The rent was three weeks overdue, and Mr. Harlan wouldn’t let me forget it. Every morning at eight sharp, his heavy fist hammered my door like a drumbeat of shame. “Natasha! Open up! You know what this is about!” His voice boomed through the thin wood, thick with irritation. I’d been dodging him, slipping out early, coming back late, praying he’d give me one more day. But today he wasn’t leaving.

I stood behind the door in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and panties, heart racing. ...