With no warning light

engine ticking ever louder

waning power

something wasn’t right

Feeling around for the lever, I tugged. The hood thunked. Stepping out, my sole sunk into sand.

“I thought Japan made good cars …” My words evaporated in the desert, alone.

By the light of my phone, the motor looked fine, just hot. Hotter than normal? That road twisted, so dark under a thin Moon.

I sighed, gazing back. What did humanity expect, everything would turn out peachy? For almost a century, we’d burned the candle at both ends: empathy on one side, dinosaurs aflame on the other, teetering on atomic warheads, hoping for no earthquakes. I’d bought the hype, too. But ingenuity and ego can’t hold when luck runs out.

Headlights approached.

The passenger door latch offered no release. My keys glimmered from the seat. I raced around to the driver’s side and grabbed the fob, pressing, mashing, lights flashing: locked, open, locked — trunk. It held the rifle …

But the pickup pulled over right behind me.

“Shit!” I fumbled in the glove box. The pink pepper spray wasn’t much, but it was something. My purse? I scrambled its contents with my hand. No, that was my prescription bottle. There, found it!

Just one inside the truck, he stepped out. “You all right?” A deep voice.

I slid into darkness.

“Ma’am, just coming back from town.” He inched nearer. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

The spray nozzle — which way’s forward? I stayed in the shadow.

He stopped. “I can help. Where you headed?”

“Denver, I hope.”

“You’ve got California plates,” he said. “I’ve seen a few already.”

“You’ll see more.”

“Is it that bad?”

“I threw stuff in the trunk and just drove.”

He stepped into the light. “Sorry to hear that.” He was tall, striking, blond.

With a tug, my scarf loosened, my hair tumbled. I eased closer, pepper spray behind my back.

His face dropped in shock. “Sorry, miss, I don’t mean to stare it’s just — you look like you’re on TV.”

“I am on TV”—my eyes dipped—"was.”

He smiled.

That first smile was the last time I could read his face and know what he truly felt: longing.

He was so charming after that smile — at first.

If only I’d known what he was, then, and who he would become: Milly’s father.

1. Two Decades Later …

“Is it even a home if it doesn’t feel safe?” Milly asks. No one answers. She taps a button. Darkly tinted windows before her turn crystal clear. Scorching sun beams through smoke, but the air inside this sealed, two-bedroom condominium is cool and clean. She squints at a drone outside, whizzing upwards with a package.

image [https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_1456,c_limit,f_webp,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F8b04136e-e253-4486-a119-f997165c2374_1024x1024.jpeg]

“Is it even a home if it doesn’t feel safe?” Milly asks. No one answers. She taps a button. Darkly tinted windows before her turn crystal clear. Scorching sun beams through smoke, but the air inside this sealed, two-bedroom condominium is cool and clean. She squints at a drone outside, whizzing upwards with a package.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Behind Milly, across the spacious living room, a middle-aged couple chats near the entrance.

“How do you feel about this place?” the wife asks.

The husband rubs his neat beard. “It’s more than we were hoping to spend.”

“But we can afford it. We’ve seen so many. It even has those windows you like.”

“Hmm, I don't know …”

Her weary eyes slump, crestfallen.

Back at the window, Milly touches another button. A hologram of a flower bouquet emerges on a table. Overhead lights illuminate elegant staged furniture.

“Money is just a number,” Milly says, turning to the husband.

He huffs, rolling his neck.

Milly answers the wife’s prior question out of turn. “I don’t feel anything at all.”

Sharing a stare, the couple stands perplexed.

Finger twirling in slow circles towards the wife, Milly asks, “Doesn’t it matter how you feel, just being here? Go first.”

The wife nods and starts exploring the home.

The husband follows, but Milly thrusts out her palm. He stops. They wait in the living room. She fidgets with her large, silvery bracelet. Leaning on the couch, he watches his wife wander and checks his phone.

The wife turns down the hall, out of their view, and enters the primary bedroom. Exhaling, she whispers, “So lovely …” before stretching her arms inside the closet.

In the living room, Milly raises her hand like a conductor. Music begins throughout the home.

🎵 “Bette Davis Eyes” - Kim Carnes 🎵

Brow furrowed, the husband peers down the hallway. His foot budges forward. He peeks at Milly.

Once again, she holds out her palm to stop him.

Meanwhile, in the bedroom, the wife pushes down on the plush mattress. Sprawling out, she grins at the ceiling fan swishing to the beat.

Hypnotic. Melodic.

As the song ends, the wife hops up and returns, gushing, “I feel so safe here. It’s perfect!” Then her face sinks, eyelids aflutter. She sniffles.

Her husband’s staring at his phone.

With slow steps like a pendulum, Milly crosses the room and approaches.

He blinks, attention rising from his screen.

Eyes locked with his, Milly asks softly, “Now, how do you feel when you look — at her?”

He faces his wife.

She looks up, eyes shimmering with waiting tears.

He asks, “Have I been dragging my feet?”

In silence, the wife reaches out to hold her husband’s hand. Her lip quivers.

“Your turn,” Milly says to him.

“I’ve seen enough.” He gulps.

Swallowing his guilt?

One corner of Milly’s mouth curls upwards.

The trio exits the condo. Inside the elevator, Milly says, “Lobby.” Facing the closing doors, they descend.

Milly and the husband exchange a glance.

Leaning against the handrail, she arches her back and looks away. Pixel-perfect clouds slide across digital sky-blue walls.

His eyes drift back to her. Milly’s blonde hair cascades, awash in waves and full of health. Light reflects upon the contours of her flowing metallic blouse.

His eyes shift lower. The black fabric of slim-cut slacks hugs Milly’s knee and drapes down her calf. One of her feet, in ballet flats, is perched on its toe; it taps.

His eyes lift.

Brow arched, Milly tilts her head. “Are you sure you’ve seen enough?”

Clearing his throat, he nods.

His wife pivots to face him.

“It’s lovely,” he responds, “just maybe out of reach. So, how long have you been an agent?”

Milly offers a thin smile. “That’s like asking a woman her age.”

They all chuckle.

“No, really,” he says. “I mean, you are young.”

Milly eases her heel to the floor. “Would you believe me if I said today was my first day?”

He smirks. “No.”

“Then I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The elevator bell dings. Looking at Milly, the wife mouths, “Thank you,” as they exit into the lobby.

Lush potted plants, nestled amongst puffy couches, rest upon polished concrete floors. From the café, gray-haired ladies wave.

Milly winks back, twiddling her fingers as she strolls by.

A driverless AI taxicab pulls up in the haze outside the building’s airlocked front door. Helmeted, armed guards and a four-legged drone inspect the car.

The couple fumbles with their filter masks.

“Aren’t you leaving?” the wife asks. “Do you … need a ride?”

“Why leave?” Milly’s hands rise, ending in a flourish. “I live here.”

The wife grins with amazement, first at her husband, then Milly.

He musters a smile for the first time.

Milly nods coyly and walks away, then rolls her eyes. Crossing the lobby, she glances at the time and quickens her pace. Riding the elevator up alone, her phone rings. She answers on speaker.

“Milly, that couple finally wants to make an offer. He’s been such a foot-dragging pain in my ass. Thank you!”

“He was easy to read.” With a sly smile, Milly clenches her fist. “My pleasure — truly.”

“What did you do?”

“I made space.”

“Space for what?”

“For her — to show him her pain. Lucky for everyone, he still cares.”

“You’re amazing! But remember, I can’t pay you a bonus when they buy.”

“I knew that. Doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Milly sighs. “At least she gets a home. That matters.”

“You didn’t tell my clients you’re not licensed, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Milly, are you sure you don’t want to be a real estate agent?”

“I already told you why I can’t.”

“Sorry. Your ex, still?”

“Yes,” Milly says.

“What’s it been, a year?”

“And a half. He mustn’t know.”

“Even your city?”

“Correct. You haven’t told anyone?”

“No. But how does this end?”

“Actually”—Milly taps her lip—“I’m working on that today.”

“Then I’ll let you go.”

“Thank you,” they say in unison.

The call ends. Milly’s phone dings with payment. “At least she’s nice”—Milly scoffs at the amount—“but she’ll make a hundred times that.”

The elevator opens. Milly strides down the hallway. With her grip, a door handle lights up, glowing pink through the smooth finish of her thumbnail. The latch unlocks.

Milly enters her condo: number seventy-five. Its wall panel brightens; words scroll.

— Late Rent Notice