The eviction notice was taped dead center on my front door, as if whoever put it there wanted every neighbor on the fourteenth floor to know I was being thrown out of a home I had paid for with seven years of late nights, skipped vacations, and stubborn determination. I stopped halfway between the elevator and Unit 14B, grocery bag hanging from one hand, and felt something cold settle behind my ribs. The first line made no sense at all: NOTICE OF LEASE TERMINATION.
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