I was in the landlord's office when I told him I wouldn't be signing.
The room smelled of printer toner and lemon cleaner. The contract lay on his desk, my name typed beside Miles's. I had asked the property manager to hold the apartment for one extra day. She had done it as a courtesy, though she'd warned me the deposit wouldn't be returned if we walked away.
"I understand," she said.
I signed the form releasing my claim to the unit. My hand shook once as I wrote my name. Then it steadied.
The deposit was $2,400. I had put in half. The money was gone.
When I stepped outside, Miles was waiting beside his car. He had asked to meet after I'd handled the paperwork.
"Did you sign?" he asked.
"I declined."
He looked at the door behind me. "I'm sorry."
"I know."
"I'm not asking you to
