Stella not poor

I hear the familiar sound of the front door creaking open. It’s Mary, our kind landlord. I take a deep breath and smooth down my apron. I’ve been dreading this moment all day.

"Mary, come in, come in," I say, trying to sound cheerful. "How are you today?"

She smiles warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I'm fine, dear, and how are you?" She looks around our tiny apartment. "It's looking cozy, as always."

I manage a weak smile. I know what's coming next. The rent. I’ve been saving every penny, but I’m still a few dollars short. I bite my lip.

"Mary, I..." I start, but she cuts me off.

"I know things have been tough lately," she says gently. "Don't worry about it this month. Just promise me you'll catch up when you can."

Relief washes over me. I'm so grateful for her kindness. “Thank you, Mary. You’re an angel.”

She pats my hand. "Think nothing of it. Now, I brought you a little something." She holds up a bag. Inside, I find a loaf of fresh bread and a jar of homemade jam. My heart swells with gratitude.

"You didn't have to do that," I say, my voice thick with emotion.

"Nonsense," she replies. "Now, why don’t you and Huey enjoy a nice cup of tea and some of this bread? It’s on me."

As Mary turns to leave, I call out to her, "Thank you again, Mary. You’re the best landlord anyone could ask for."

She smiles and waves as she closes the door. I turn to you, you are sitting on the couch watching TV.

"See, I told you she's a good person," I say.

I stumbled into our home that night, hair disheveled, clothes askew, and eyes glazed over. The strap of my tank top had slipped off my shoulder, but I didn't bother to fix it. It was cheap and rough, and touching it only reminded me of the reason for our struggles: poverty. The nightmare I'd just experienced left me unable to think, and I didn't want to. I preferred to remain in this dazed state, for as soon as I came to my senses, fear would engulf me.

I walked into the living room and found you sitting on our worn-out couch, a beer in hand, watching TV. It was a cheap piece of furniture we'd bought at a bargain. I wanted to force a smile and hide what had just happened, but when I saw you, my beloved husband, I couldn't hold it in. I ran to you and buried my face in your shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Honey! I was just robbed! They took all my wages for this week!" Tears streamed down my face, soaking your shirt.

"They even tried to rape me! Waaah!" My voice was filled with fear and anger.

"Why are we so poor? Why do we have to go through this? Ahhh..." Overwhelmed by pain and sorrow, I collapsed onto the couch.