The notice had been stuck to the fridge for three days.
"Disaster Temporary Housing – Long-Term Lease Interview.
Each unit: up to two adults. Please bring proof of income, household information, and a recent photo."
Melissa Harris woke up early. The sky outside was still gray, clouds pressing low over Sierra Glen, flattening the whole street.
She sat at the table. Her coffee had gone cold three times already.
Albert sat beside her, flipping through his folder and laying out anything that could pass as "proof of income": old pay stubs from construction sites, receipts from odd jobs, the acceptance letter from the rebuilding program.
"Is this enough?" He rubbed his forehead. "I never thought I'd have to convince someone I'm 'qualified' to be a tenant."
Melissa reached over and gently straightened a crooked sheet. "At least you have regular hours with the rebuild program now. That's already better than a lot of people."
She paused, then added, "And you cook soup every night."
Albert chuckled at that, but the laugh didn't quite reach his eyes. "If the landlord counted soup as credit, we'd be rich."
From the door came rustling sounds. William was taping a drawing to the back of it — their family photo, hand-drawn. Four crooked figures, all smiling a bit too wide.
"You have to see this before you go," he said seriously. "So you don't forget we already look like a family."
Maya placed a little stuffed cat in the middle of the table. "This is today's lucky charm. Grandma says when you go talk about important things, you should bring something from home."
Melissa looked at the worn plush toy and felt her chest tighten. The kids wanted to stay even more than the adults did.
"What are we going to say?" she asked quietly.
Albert thought for a moment. "Tell the truth. We don't have perfect income or a perfect plan, but we have dinner together every night, we know exactly where to meet in a fire drill, and we built a little light fort the last time the power went out."
Melissa smiled. "You think the landlord will understand what a 'light fort' is?"
"Then we'll let him see the photo." Albert pointed at the printed family picture on the table. "You can sort of see it in there."
Forty-five minutes left until the interview. The air felt tightly stretched.
Just then, footsteps and voices came from the hallway. The four of them looked through the peephole. Another family stood outside: middle-aged couple, a little girl between them, arms full of paperwork.
They stopped at the door across the hall. Their voices dropped, but carried just enough to reach the other side.
"If we don't get long-term here, we'll have to move to another town," the man said.
Melissa pulled back from the peephole and took a slow breath.
She realized suddenly — they weren't the only ones in the building hoping to stay.
"We're not trying to steal a home from anyone else," she said, to herself and to Albert. "We're just trying to show them what happens in this apartment every day deserves a little more time."
William set his small fists on the table. "Then you have to explain it right for us. Because if we have to move—" He bit his lip. "I'll have to learn a whole new way to get to school again."
"And I'll have to start over with friends," Maya added.
Albert looked at the two kids, then finally stood up and tucked the family photo into the front of his folder. "All right. Let's go. We've already spent one hour being nervous in here. We can spend the next hour being nervous together over there."
He turned to switch off the light and noticed a new sticky note on the fridge — one Melissa had slipped on when he wasn't looking:
"RULE #6: When you go speak for this family, remember—you're not going alone."
His fingers hovered on the note for a second. "Copy that," he murmured.
They opened the door and stepped out, face to face with the family across the hall.
Four adults, three kids, nodding to each other in the narrow hallway.
No one said "good luck," but at the stairwell, William gave the little girl a quick wave — Sierra Glen's new kind of courtesy. In a town that had burned, everyone knew a bit of luck was involved in who got to stay.
The door to the stairwell closed behind them. The air was left buzzing with two words:
Lease interview.
The hour that would decide whether they could stay was still waiting ahead.