I begged. I swear, I begged.
“My mom just got out of the hospital,” I pleaded with my landlord, Mr. Darnell. “She’s too sick to move. We just need a few days.”
He didn’t blink. “Rent’s late. Rules are rules.”
Two hours later, we were on the curb—our bags piled like trash, my mom shivering and coughing beside me. And across the street, watching with a smirk, stood Mr. Darnell.
That’s when I saw it. My keys.
He wasn’t just evicting us—he was waiting for us to leave. So he could go inside.
It didn’t end there. Days later, I caught him loading tenants’ belongings into a van, using shady loopholes to clear out “abandoned” apartments.
I fought back. I gathered proof. I rallied tenants. And with the help of a lawyer, we took him down.
Justice prevailed. Mr. Darnell lost everything. And my mom and I? We finally found a home—one where we were more than just rent checks.
Sometimes, the hardest battles lead to the greatest victories. And standing up for what’s right? That’s always worth it. ❤️
