Page 1 of Surrender

1

Whitney

With a wave of my hand, I brush an abandoned cobweb away from my face. The sticky thread dangles from a dusty pendant light in what’s meant to be a dining room but smells like a deserted dwelling for untrained pets.

“What is this?”

The barely audible whisper leaves my mouth as my eyes dart around the dim room.

I had wanted to transform the space into a playroom. Just off the kitchen and living room, the space was perfect to set up the kids’ toys and not have my sitting area cluttered with blocks, picture books, and soft, stuffed plushies. The ideal spot to keep an eye on the kids while I cooked.

“Will you take it?”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I attempt to breathe deep, failing miserably when a spark in my gut sends tingles to my fingertips.

“This is nothing like the pictures.”

I glance around the dirty space once more. The layer of dust is thick on the window sills, hardly detracting from the brown, filmy glass. Smudges, smears, and dirty fingerprints mar the beige walls so badly that I can’t tell if they’re painted that color or stained by the previous tenants.

“Finer details are always hard to see over the internet.”

My back straightens painfully, and I shoot him a glare. “This is straight up fraud.”

The property manager huffs with a harsh roll of his dark eyes. “If you don’t want it, just say so, so we can quit wasting both of our time.”

“You’ll have to give me a second when the property I thought I was seeing was claimed to be move-in ready and this”—I wave my hand around in the stagnant air between us—“is clearly not.”

“This property is perfectly habitable.”

“That’s debatable.” I cross my arms over my chest, shivering when his smarmy gaze drops to check out my breasts.

“Nothing a quick clean can’t fix.”

“With all due respect, sir, this is not a move-in ready home.”

“Right.” He nods once, sharply. “Then I’ll give the next on my waitlist a call.”

“Hold on.” The words fly from my mouth before I give them consideration. This is moving too fast.

A bushy gray eyebrow is cocked high on his forehead when he turns back to me. “Yes?”

“Just.” I hold my hand out between us. The digits tremble with an imperceptible shake. “Just give me five minutes, please. I need to make a phone call.”

The landlord shakes his head. “Lady, I ain’t got all day.”

“Five minutes,” I snap harsher than intended, but my last thread of patience is one twang away from snapping.

“I’ll be outside.” He draws a crushed pack of smokes from his breast pocket and slips one between his dry lips before he’s even crossed the threshold.

“Prick,” I mutter.

Turning to the dingy window, I drag my phone from my back pocket. While the contact rings, I focus on the sound rather than look around the place that only fills me with despair. Newly created daydreams vanish from my mind like a puff of smoke.

“How is it?” my sister-in-law asks by way of answer. The hope in her voice hits my defenses like a sledgehammer.

“Oh, Alice. It’s freaking awful.”

“No!” she cries with an appropriate amount of disappointment. Her brother, my dead husband Devon,might have been an uncaring asshole, but she’s become my best friend over the years.

---