Anna is a single mom with three kids. When she finally gets promoted, her shady owner raises the rent just because he can. He’s about to find out the hard way that it’s the worst thing in the world to mess up with a tired woman who has nothing to lose. Anna is done being nice this time.
I’m not a petty guy most of the time. I don’t have time. Getting selfish has never been on my schedule because I have three kids and a full-time job. People who want to take away my peace, my kids, and the roof over our heads… just because I got a break?
Okay. I don’t go out on a high note. I go down making plans.
I’ll back it up for you.
My name is Anna. I’m 36 years old and have three kids by myself. Liam is eleven years old and the kind of boy who holds doors open for you without being asked and sees when I’ve had a bad day but doesn’t say anything.
When Maya is seven, she is loud, brave, and always asks the things that no one else will. Then there’s Atlas, my four-year-old. Even though I try to tame his curls, they keep coming back. He looks like a tornado when he wears Lightning McQueen socks.
We start our days before the sun even starts to rise. I got up early to pack food, tie my shoes, brush my hair, and reheat coffee, but I’ll never get it all done. A transportation company hired me as an Operations Manager not long ago, but I still work full-time as a team lead.
Someone finally saw me after eight years of staying late, skipping lunch, and never calling in sick. Even though it wasn’t a big raise, it meant I might be able to say yes to my kids’ simple requests.
Brand-new shoes with no holes. A school trip without having to take money from the grocery fund for next month. cereal with a name on it.
It had been five years since we moved into a simple two-bedroom rental. It wasn’t long after we moved in. Just before Ed, their dad, left the scene. The kids shared a room with bunk beds that made noise every time someone rolled over. My back hurt from stress and long days, so I slept on the pull-out couch.
It was ours, though.
It’s safe and clean, and school and work are only 15 minutes away. It wasn’t much, but it felt like home.
Frank, who was our owner, liked having things, especially the quiet of other people. He never answered texts or fixed things on time, and one time he told me, “With all those kids, you should be thankful you have a place at all.”
I put my pride aside and paid the rent. Because being stable is valuable… until someone tries to charge you more for it.
Frank had a cute habit of treating me like I was a renter who got a lease by chance. He didn’t see a renter; he saw a woman who was about to be thrown out because she missed a payment.
When maintenance requests were made, there was quiet, then slow, grumpy responses. The heater that broke down in December?
He texted me three times before he finally said, “Layer up, Anna.” You and the kids. It’s not really cold.
His answer was just as bad when the kitchen tap blew up like a rusted geyser, flooding my shoes and almost electrocuting the toaster.
“If it’s really important, I can stop by next Thursday.”
But he never thought it was important. Not the bugs, the mold, or the fact that every time it rained, my front door lock got stuck. I felt like it was too much to ask for simple safety from him.
The worst part, though?
When we ran into each other, he looked at me like a single mom who was having a hard time was a cautionary story and not a person. He smiled once.
“Be thankful that you have a place to stay with all those kids.”
It felt like my kids were extra stuff. As if our house were a favor.
It didn’t stop, though. Every month on time. Because it cost a lot to start over, and even though the rent went up over time, it was still less than anywhere else that felt safe.
Then there was the raise.
There wasn’t a lot of noise and glitter, but it was mine. A quiet win that was won. I changed my LinkedIn.
“I’m proud to say I’ve been promoted to Operations Manager after years of working full-time and being a mom.” It pays off to work hard!“
I wasn’t ready for cheers. People I worked with, old classmates, and even a mom from daycare I barely knew sent me nice notes.
She told him, “You make the impossible look easy.”
That one I read three times.
In the break room, I cried. There were only a few tears. Peaceful ones. Even with my tired eyes and being late, I felt like someone finally saw me.
Me.
After two days, Frank sent me an email.
Notice of Change to Rental Agreement
My rent was going up by $500. Nothing new. There’s no reason.
“Just saw your little ad post. Good job! I thought this was the best time to get a little more from you.
I blinked and stared at the screen as if the words could change order and become less offensive. This couldn’t be real, right? There must have been a mistake. Something went wrong. He might have sent it to the wrong renter.
I called him right away, holding the phone to my ear with a shaking hand.
I tried to keep my voice steady as I said, “Frank, that’s a huge increase.” “I’ve always paid my rent on time.” We have a lease…
He stopped me with a laugh and said, “Look.” “You wanted to have a job and a lot of kids, which costs money.” You’re no longer poor, so don’t expect help. People can charge more if they make more. Ana, it’s just math. Hi honey, this is not a daycare, this is work.
I was shocked and my mouth was dry. I let go of the phone and my hand fell into my lap. From the living room, I could hear the kids laughing. Their laugh was so normal and innocent that it made my throat bile rise.
I hung up without saying anything else.
After putting three little bodies to bed that night in blankets that didn’t match, I found myself in the laundry room with a pile of socks that didn’t match. I felt like I was going to be grounded.
I stayed there for a long time.
When you cry, you need to keep it inside so your kids don’t hear it. The kind that makes your chest burn and shake. That’s the one I took in.
Liam found me there. No shoes on, quiet, and kind.
“Are you okay?”He asked.
I tried to smile and say, “Just tired.”
He gave me a nod and sat down next to me, back against the dryer.
He looked at the floor and said, “We’ll be okay.” “You always figure it out.”
And hearing that from him broke me more than Frank ever could. That’s when I made up my mind.
I didn’t want to beg. I wasn’t going to beg Frank, hack together money I didn’t have, or give up food to pay the rent. I was sick of being nice to people who thought it made me weak.
I was going to show him something.
I gave my 30-day notice that week. Not a story. It was just a signed letter that slid into his mailbox like a quit from all of his nonsense.
That same night, I picked up the phone and posted in every parenting and rental group in my area. Not anything flashy. The truth only.
Want to rent a place that’s good for families? Do not go to 116 Muscut Avenue. My landlord just raised my rent by $500 because I got a new job. punishing working moms for doing a good job? “Not today, gentlemen and ladies.”
I didn’t call him that. I didn’t have to.
The post went crazy overnight.
Moms began to leave comments with their own scary stories. One person said Frank made her pay six months early because “women are flakey.” Another person showed screenshots of Frank refusing to fix mold because “it’s just a cosmetic issue, Jane.”
People rolled their eyes. Angry acts. One woman called him “a sleazy slumlord in a polo shirt,” and another said he told her she should “marry rich if she wanted better maintenance.”
Then Jodie showed up. I only knew her as a mom through the PTA. She sent me a private letter.
“Anna, this man tried to rent me that same unit and asked my husband to co-sign.” Do you want to know why? Because I might get pregnant and not be able to work.
Jodie had the bills. And she put them up.
After two days, the post was picked up by a page in our county that keeps an eye on real estate. Someone even made a TikTok with fast-paced piano music and transitions that showed pictures of his crusty listing next to my original post.
It was beautiful.
Then what do you know? Old Frank sent me a text.
“Hi, Anna. I had some thoughts. That rise might have been too big, too fast. Okay, let’s keep the rent the same.“
I didn’t answer right away.
Instead, I picked up Maya from dance, where she was still shimmery and hot. Atlas made a “rocket dog” out of three pieces of construction paper that he taped together at preschool. I picked him up.
I sat next to Liam as he worked on long division. He was very focused, and his pencil was chewed up so much that it couldn’t be saved.
The picture is of a little girl up close.
The picture is of a little girl up close.
As I always did, I kissed all three of their heads. Maya was quick, Atlas was sticky, and Liam was a little embarrassed but okay with it. I hid the fact that we were again out of milk while making grilled cheese with the last few pieces of bread.
“The Gruffalo” was read to me twice because Atlas asked me to.
“Do the scary voice again!””He whispered happily.” It hurt my throat, but I did it.
They were already asleep when I finally answered. I sat on the edge of my pull-out couch and looked at the chipped paint on the wall.
“Thanks, Frank.” But I already have a lease somewhere else. Just make sure that the place is marked as “pet-free.” The rats under the sink might not get along with the cat that moves in next door.
He didn’t bother to answer. And I thought he had agreed to take my last notice.
We left at the end of the month. When I shut the door, I didn’t cry. I turned around and left.
A friend from one of the housing groups put me in touch with the owner of her cousin. That’s how we found our new home. Yes, it’s a little smaller, but it does have three real beds.
No more squeaky bunk beds or having to sleep on springs and coils. The grass in the back isn’t even and looks a little wild.
He calls it his farm. On our first weekend there, Maya made a hat out of dandelions. Already, Liam has taken over the room with the best light and begun drawing again.
Oh, and Mrs. Calder, our new landlord?
She brought over a basket of treats with tiny muffins and a card that she had written herself. The next week, she did remember all of their names. She said she didn’t see me cry when I did.
That night, after moving boxes, tangled chargers, and someone missing their left shoe, the four of us laid on the living room floor. First time in months that I let out a breath, I looked up at the ceiling.
“Is this our home for life?”Atlas curled up next to me and whispered.
I said, “It’s our better home.” “Perhaps our forever home… let’s check it out, okay?”“
After a week, Frank’s ad showed up online. $300 was taken off the rent. Still no takers.
I still get DMs sometimes.
“Thanks, I saw your post. “Someone had to push me to leave.”
“He did the same thing to me.” Not this time!“
It turns out that word of mouth is valuable in a world where rent goes up faster than hope.
Oh, and respect? That doesn’t cost anything.
You can’t pick on single moms because we’re too tired or busy to fight back or speak out. You should know this.
We have baby bags and bills with us. We remember everything.
It had been a few weeks since the move, and the air finally smelled like us instead of dust and cardboard. I asked Mrs. Calder over for dinner.
Even though I didn’t have much, I made a meal that could say “thank you” in a thousand words. There is enough sauce to cover every bite of roasted chicken with potatoes and carrots that have been seasoned with herbs.
It seemed like Liam was on a food show while he peeled the carrots. With a dramatic touch, Maya sprinkled rosemary. Atlas was supposed to butter the rolls, but all he did was lick his fingers and put butter on his cheek.
When Mrs. Calder got there, she brought roses and a peach cobbler. Her sweater had cats on it, and she smiled like she meant it.
As she walked in, she said, “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal with kids running around in years.” “I already love this dinner the most.”
At dinner, everyone laughed, had seconds, and put sauce on everything. Liam said that potatoes take in taste better when they are slightly smashed. Maya said the chicken was juicier because she had been praising it in her head while it was roasting.
Atlas cried and dropped his roll. He then cheered when it bounced off his chair and back on the table. At one point, I realized I was staring at them instead of eating. My kids. Safe. Very loud. Complete.
Mrs. Calder told Anna, “You’ve made this house feel like a home.” “Only a few people can do that in a few weeks.”
I wasn’t sure I could speak. I just smiled. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like we were just getting by.
We had a root.
