The complaint took less than fifteen minutes to complete. I attached the letter he’d proudly signed, highlighted the sentence about being “uncomfortable with a baby,” and submitted it before I finished my coffee. Two weeks later, an investigator called to ask if I still had the original document. “Of course,” I said. “I trained people to keep originals.” She laughed and told me, “This may be one of the clearest cases we’ve seen all year.”
My landlord didn’t understand how serious it was until he received the official notice. He called me three times in one afternoon, insisting it had all been a misunderstanding and asking if we could “just work something out.” I reminded him that I’d asked him to reconsider before he put anything in writing. Instead, he’d doubled down, signed it, dated it, and slipped it under my door. Now someone else would decide what happened next.
A month later, I was still living in the apartment, my lease had been renewed, and my rent hadn’t changed by a single dollar. As part of the settlement, my landlord was required to attend fair housing training before he could manage another rental property. The day I brought my newborn home, I walked past the same mailbox where he’d left that eviction letter. I smiled, unlocked my front door, and carried my daughter into the home he had tried so hard to take away.
