CHAPTER 6.1: THE LAST STRAW
GWEN
I’d barely sat down when I felt the weight in the room, the quiet, painful grief everyone was trying to bear.
Nico’s living room was cramped, suffused with the heaviness of loss, and I could feel Nico beside me, looking hollow, his guilt etched deep in every frown line on his face. Dr. Sean sat on the other side, offering silent support. Florence, Victor, and a handful of other neighbors stood around, their expressions somber, waiting for someone to say something that might make this easier.
It hadn’t even been a week since Gerardo was buried, and yet, Nico still looked like he was haunted, trapped by the regret he’d been carrying since the night his father died. His last conversation with his father stuck in his mind, words Nico had only confided in me after we left the graveside. They were harsh, angry words—said in frustration, and now laced with a regret that he couldn’t shake.
I wanted to say something to him, to remind him that anger has a way of making us lash out, that it was never his father’s love he was rejecting. But the guilt on his face held me back, like he was punishing himself enough without anyone else’s judgment. So instead, I just placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping he’d feel that someone was there for him, while Dr. Sean said a few gentle words about time’s ability to heal.
Then, just as the silence was settling back in, the front door creaked open, and the low murmur of voices fell to a hush. I turned to see a man standing in the doorway, crisp and cold, carrying a sleek black briefcase that practically screamed lawyer.
His gaze swept over the room, taking us all in, and something about his posture—the squared shoulders, the tightened jaw—made my stomach twist.
He cleared his throat. “Ah, it’s good that most of the neighbors are here, so you can all listen to what I’m about to say.” His voice was smooth, clipped, lacking any warmth. “Good day, everyone. I know this may not feel like the right time, but I’m under obligation to deliver this notice on behalf of my clients.”
His tone was clinical, impersonal, and I could see the annoyance flare up in Florence’s eyes. She shifted, clenching her hands in front of her like she was trying to restrain herself.
The lawyer glanced around, oblivious or uncaring. “All residents on this street were given prior notifications regarding the upcoming development plans, and with no other options remaining, I’m here to inform you that each home must be vacated by the end of next month. This is a final and legally binding notice. Please understand that this directive is non-negotiable.”
The announcement settled over the room like a thick fog, and for a second, no one said anything, the shock rendering us speechless. Then the voices started up, outrage simmering in angry whispers and indignant gasps.
Florence’s voice was the first to break through, her tone shaking with fury. “Are you and your so-called clients even human?” She glared at the lawyer, her hands balling into fists. “Gerardo just died, and you show up here like this?”
Victor, an older man with a lifetime of hardships written on his face, stepped forward, his voice rising with barely controlled anger. “It was because of those bastards that Gerardo took his own life, no?” He looked at the lawyer like he was something foul that had crawled into the room.
