Chapter 1: The Midnight Alert
The fluorescent numbers of the digital clock on my microwave blinked 2:47 AM. The small, cramped studio apartment in Seattle was quiet, save for the rhythmic drumming of the November rain against the single window. I was deeply asleep, exhausted from having worked a double shift at the accounting firm. I had been working sixty-hour weeks for four years. Every overtime hour, every skipped lunch, every denied vacation was a brick I was laying to build my future.
I was thirty-four years old. I didn’t have a husband. I didn’t have children. But I had a goal: a two-bedroom condo overlooking the Puget Sound. I had saved $45,000 for the down payment. It was my sanctuary, my escape hatch from the crushing anxiety of renting and the perpetual feeling of being left behind by my peers.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated on the nightstand. The screen lit up the darkness, casting a cold, artificial glow across the room.
I groaned, rolling over and squinting at the bright display. It was a push notification from my banking app. I assumed it was a low-balance alert for my checking account, which I deliberately kept sparse to force myself to save.
