In week two of the countdown, Patricia found an apartment she was genuinely interested in — a one-bedroom in a development eight miles away, decent parking, near her doctor, on the second floor with an elevator. She sent in the rental application. She paid the application fee. She texted Daniel a photo of the living room with what I can only describe as cautious optimism.
The application was denied in week three.
The reason, as far as we could determine, was a credit issue connected to the account she’d had with her previous landlord before she’d sold her own home. Daniel spent two evenings on the phone with her about it. The denial was real and it was a setback, and I want to be honest that in that week I felt two things simultaneously: genuine sympathy for a person navigating a bureaucratic obstacle, and a well-founded concern that this setback was going to become the reason the November fifteenth date couldn’t hold.
Daniel came to me and told me what had happened. He said it wasn’t her fault, which was probably true. He said the denial would make things harder, which was also true. He did not say what I feared he was going to say next.
What he said next was: “I think we should help her document the credit issue. There’s a process for disputing it. And I want to tell her that the date still holds but we’re in it with her.”
This was the version of Daniel I had asked for.