—Theresa—

On feet worn down to nubs, I trudged up the flights of stairs to my tiny hovel of an apartment. The elevator was, again and unsurprisingly, broken, forcing me to climb more steps than I cared to think about. And, God, tell me I did not just hear the skittering of a rat. Suppressing a shudder, I sped through the final flight of stairs and let the stairwell door clang resoundingly shut behind me—if nobody else in the building cared about noise, why should I.

I passed my door and instead stopped at the one just to the right. It belonged to Mrs. Perlmutter, the one ray of sunshine that had come into my life in the last months.

I knocked on the worn door; a chip of paint flaked off and fluttered to the rough hardwood floor. A few moments later, Edna Perlmutter’s lined face appeared. “You’re late again,” she said, not unkindly, by way of greeting.

I sighed softly. “I know. My replacement was late and the manager wouldn’t let me leave until he got there.”

Edna made a disdainful sound and stepped back to let me in. “Retail never changes.”

I followed her into the living room, a smile finally curling my lips when I saw Zury, playing happily with blocks on the rug.

“Thank you, again, for watching her.”

“Ah,” the older woman grumbled, taking a seat in her recliner. “I think you can stop thanking me by now.” She shrugged. “Besides, I don’t really mind the company.”

I shook my head and picked up Zury. Edna liked to act like a crotchety old crone, but, secretly, she adored children. Since her own never brought their kids by, she’d warmed up to my daughter as soon as we’d moved in next door.

“I get paid on Friday, so I’ll bring your money by on Monday, if that’s okay? They’ve actually scheduled me off the whole weekend.”

Edna nodded, sinking deeper into her chair. “Fine, fine.” I couldn’t afford to pay her much—and she hadn’t asked for payment at all—but I couldn’t accept her as a babysitter unless I gave her something.

I left the apartment, Zury on my hip, and let us into our apartment. As soon as I walked inside, I just sighed. It truly never ceased to be one of the saddest things I’d ever seen. Not for the first time, I couldn’t help but wonder, how did I end up here?

I sang—badly—along to the radio while my paintbrush glided across the canvas in front of me. Sometimes, I had to really try to paint. I had to dig deep and will the creativity out of myself. On some days when my paintbrush refused to sing, I even felt like the cold, modern apartment I lived in with my long-time boyfriend was trying to stifle my creative spark.

Today—today was not one of those days.

My daughter, Azure—little Zury—was playing quietly in front of the television, occasionally raising her babbling voice up like she, too, was singing along with the upbeat pop coming from my radio. I hoped that she’d keep being so good; Peter thought I just had nothing but time to paint, since I didn’t work, but being a mom was a job itself.

The front door opened. Even over the radio and Zury’s cartoon, I knew Peter’s familiar footsteps. I put down my brush and turned to him with a smile on my face—only to have it die when I took in his grim expression.

“Pete? What is it?” I left the easel and crossed over to him.

“We need to talk, Theresa.”

I could still hear his words in my ears, his tone so cold, so matter-of-fact as he sounded the death knell to our relationship. Seven years together—seven years I’d devoted my life to that man—and it ended with a veritable whimper. No blow out argument, no affairs—that I knew about, anyway—just we need to talk, Theresa.

“Mama, down,” Zury said insistently. At her urging, I realized I’d been standing frozen in place for some time.

“Sorry, baby girl,” I murmured and lowered her onto the grimy carpet. I sighed again looking at it; no matter how much I vacuumed, it would never be clean. I’d even borrowed a carpet washer from a coworker to no avail.

Zury, completely unfazed, toddled over to the toy bin. I was at the same time grateful and annoyed that I’d been able to bring everything of hers with us when we left. Grateful for obvious reasons, annoyed because it meant Peter had no desire to share custody. Sure, he could easily have afforded to replace everything, but I’d known as soon as he’d told me I could take it all. Deep down, I’d always known that while Zury was a happy accident for me, she’d been a mistake to him.

“Mama, play.”

I forced a smile and knelt down next to her. “Sure, baby. Let’s see what we’ve got here…”

Later that night after I put her to bed, I sat down at our excuse for a dining table and looked at the mountain of bills in front of me. Rent, phone, electricity…I carefully went through them all. Twice. The numbers added up just fine—just to more than I was going to make that month, even if I didn’t give Edna a dime and fed myself on bologna sandwiches.

Tears sprang to my eyes, and I covered my face with my hands. I’d forgotten how expensive it was to live in San Myshuno. When I’d first arrived, I’d been twenty-three and living with a friend, a fellow college drop-out who had moved here along with me so we could pursue our art. Back then, it had been easy—almost fun—living in an apartment much like this one. We’d had the time to devote ourselves to making and selling art, and we’d scraped by.

Now…now I was older. I had a daughter to think about. A shit job that took all my time but paid for only a fraction of it. And a cunning prosecutor ex-boyfriend who had the means to get far better representation than me in our custody suit. By the end of it, he’d come out of it paying next to nothing. Enough to keep Zury fed and not much else.

I looked at the bills again. I looked at my bank statement. I’d need a second job, maybe a third one, to keep up with all of our expenses. When would I even see Zury if I worked another job? I barely had the energy to play with her as it was.

The burning in my eyes became fully formed tears and they slipped down my cheeks. What was I going to do? What would my mother have done if she’d been in my position when her first husband left her?

As soon as I thought the question, I knew the answer.

I picked up my phone. I knew they’d be asleep, but I dialed the number anyway.

Riiing. Riiing. Riiing. Riiing.

Finally, a sleep-scratchy voice picked up. “Hello?”

I sniffled softly. “Mom? It’s Theresa. I…I need your help.”