The door creaked open, and for a moment, I just stood there—one foot inside the new apartment, the other still clinging to the life we used to have at the old church. My hand trembled slightly on the doorknob, but I took a breath and stepped in fully.
"This is it..." I muttered.
The unit was modest but bright. It smelled faintly of fresh paint and pine-scented floor cleaner. The walls were a warm cream, the kind that didn’t feel too clinical, and the floors gleamed like someone actually cared. There were two small bedrooms, a clean bathroom, a kitchenette with working appliances, and a balcony that overlooked the quiet city streets. No leaking ceiling. No flickering lights. No rats trying to audition for Ratatouille.
Mama walked in behind me, her eyes scanning everything. “Maurice… this
