Taken on the eleventh of July, 2019, which was my first day of having somewhere of my own.
And me at twenty-one, coming out of a registry office in a cream dress, with Reeve Hale’s hand on the small of my back.
Taken on the eighth of June, 2022. Four days after I signed that agreement.
Sixteen years and seven months.
Every quarter, on a schedule, by a firm on Belgrave Road that bills about four thousand dollars a report.
Sixty-six reports. I have counted them.
And in all of that, not one single contact.
Not a letter. Not a card. Not a telephone call to a unit. Not one person at one door, ever, at any age.
Until eleven o’clock on a Thursday morning in the November of 2025, in Court Three, four minutes after a judge put me out of a house.
PART 3
He has told me why.
Over about two hours, in a room on the eleventh floor of a building on Belgrave Road, in the January, with nobody else in it and both telephones face down.
