Chapter 2

The hospital waiting room was cold and smelled of antiseptic. I left my mother in the emergency room, the doctors and nurses moving around her with quiet urgency. They said it was severe carbon monoxide poisoning, and they were doing everything they can. Every minute felt like an hour. The rage from earlier had cooled into a hard, dense knot of fear in my stomach. I couldn't just sit here. I had to do something.

My hands were shaking as I dialed Mr. Henderson's number. It was his personal cell, the one he gave out for "real emergencies." This was a real emergency.

He answered on the third ring.

"Henderson."

"Mr. Henderson, it's Sarah Miller," I said, my voice cracking. "I'm at the hospital. The paramedics confirmed it. It was carbon monoxide. The levels in my apartment were dangerously high. My mother..."

"I heard," he cut me off, his voice flat and bored. "The fire department called me. They had to ventilate the whole floor. A real headache for me, you know. Waking up all the other tenants."

I was stunned by his lack of concern.

"A headache for you? My mother almost died. She's in the emergency room. You have to fix the furnace. It's not just my apartment, the whole line could be affected."

"Listen, Sarah," he said, his tone shifting to one of strained patience, like he was talking to a difficult child. "I've already got my guy looking at it. But these things cost money. A full furnace replacement isn't cheap. I have a budget for the whole building, I can't just throw all our resources at one problem because you're having a panic attack."

"This isn't a panic attack!" I cried, my voice rising. "This is a life-threatening hazard! You have a responsibility!"

"And you have a responsibility to pay your rent on time, but you were three days late last month, weren't you?" he shot back. "We all have our responsibilities."

I was about to scream at him when I heard another voice in the background on his end of the line. It was Dave, the tenant from upstairs.

"Hey, Mr. H," Dave's cheerful voice cut through. "Sorry to bother you again, but the screen on my window has a small tear in it. A bug got in last night. Any chance your guy could patch it up when he's around?"

Henderson's tone changed instantly, becoming warm and accommodating.

"A torn screen? Oh, we can't have that. My best tenant getting attacked by bugs? Of course, Dave. I'll have someone up there this morning to replace the whole thing. No problem at all, my boy. Anything for you."

The contrast was so stark, so blatant, it stole the air from my lungs. A torn screen was an immediate priority, while a furnace poisoning a 72-year-old woman was a budgetary inconvenience.

The hard knot of fear in my stomach burst into flames.

"Are you serious?" I whispered into the phone, my voice trembling with fury. "You're going to fix his window screen right now, but you couldn't be bothered to fix the heater that almost killed my mother?"

Henderson must have walked away from Dave because his voice was low and menacing when he spoke again.

"That's none of your business. Dave is a model tenant. He pays on time, he doesn't complain, and he doesn't cause drama. He understands how things work. Maybe you could learn a thing or two from him."

"How things work?" I repeated, incredulous. "You mean how they work for men? Is that it? You'll bend over backward for any man in the building, but the women are just hysterical pains in your neck?"

"Now you're just being emotional," he sneered. "It has nothing to do with gender. It has to do with being a good, low-maintenance tenant. Frankly, you're a liability, Sarah. Always something with you. Maybe you're not cut out for this kind of independent living. Maybe you need a man to help you manage things."

Just then, a nurse came out into the waiting room. She saw my face and rushed over.

"Ma'am, are you alright? You're as white as a sheet."

I couldn't answer her. I was leaning against the wall, the phone still pressed to my ear, listening to the echoing silence from Henderson's end. He had hung up. My mother's doctor came out a moment later. His face was grim.

"Ms. Miller, your mother's condition is unstable. The poison has put a great strain on her heart. We're moving her to the ICU."

The world tilted. The nurse helped me into a chair. My mother's life was in danger, and the man responsible was busy fixing a torn window screen and insulting me.

Through the window of the waiting room, I could see the other apartment building across the street. I saw a woman struggling to carry groceries up the stairs while a man breezed past her, holding nothing but his phone. I saw an elderly woman sweeping the sidewalk in front of her door, while a group of young men stood nearby, laughing and smoking.

It was everywhere. The casual dismissal, the unspoken rule that a man's comfort was a priority and a woman's struggle was her own fault.

Another nurse approached me cautiously.

"Ma'am, your mother is asking for you. She's conscious, but very weak."

The news barely registered. The rage was a roaring fire now, burning away the fear and the helplessness. I stood up, my body feeling strangely steady. I knew what I had to do. Talking to Henderson was pointless. Proving him wrong was pointless. I had to go over his head.

I walked past the nurse, my steps determined. I pulled out my phone again, my thumb hovering over the numbers. Not Henderson's number this time. I looked at the sign on the hospital wall, the one with emergency contacts.

I dialed the number for the city's housing authority. Then I called the local news station. Then I remembered a dusty pamphlet my dad, a lifelong union man, had given me years ago. It was in a box somewhere in my closet. It was about tenant rights and organizing.

My fight wasn't just about a broken heater anymore. It was about Dave's window screen. It was about Maria's toilet and Mrs. Chen's broken lock. It was about my mother, lying in an ICU bed because a man like Henderson decided her life was not a priority. He thought I was a hysterical, emotional woman. He was about to find out just how hysterical I could be.