Chapter8

Early the next morning, a knock startled me awake. Opening the door, I found the landlord holding a new lease agreement. "Miss, Eric sent me. Said you'd be taking over the lease from now on." "Did he say where he was going?" The landlord shook her head. "The lad didn't say much. Just paid three months' rent upfront." After signing, I turned and spotted a thermal lunchbox on the dining table—the one Eric hadn't taken yesterday. Lifting the lid, the oatmeal inside was still faintly warm. A note was tucked beside it, the handwriting neat: Remember to heat it up. I sank to the floor, clutching the lunchbox, tears blurring the ink on the note. He'd anticipated my leaving. He'd even paved my way out. The days that followed, I drifted through the apartment like a ghost. By day, I buried myself in the law books Eric had left, desperately searching the dense text for any way to salvage the Patel family. By night, I stared blankly at the empty bedroom, picturing him hunched over the desk late in