I put up a homeless man who was wearing a leg brace for one night because my son kept staring at him despite the cold. I left for work the next morning, thinking he would have left by evening.

“You only have two eviction notices left,” he said softly.

“I know.”

“I can’t bring any money yet,” he continued, “but I can offer leverage.”

A small, joyless laugh escaped me. “The owners aren’t compassionate.”

“No,” he replied calmly. “They react according to their advantage.”

That evening, after Oliver had fallen asleep, I sat opposite Adrian at the kitchen table, the landlord’s notice trembling in my hands.

“Allow me to inspect the building tomorrow,” he suggested in a low voice.

The simplicity of his proposal troubled me. He wasn’t reacting to the chaos.

He was analyzing the structure.

Saturday morning, a faint light filtered through thin curtains. I almost expected it to disappear during the night, but at precisely seven o’clock, it was