There was no grand goodbye. No dramatic moment. Just me, a mop in one hand and a cardboard box in the other, cleaning the last corner of my rented flat before locking the door for the final time.
The building had gone up for sale, and I had no choice but to move out. I left the place spotless — not because anyone asked me to, but because it felt like the right thing to do. I didn’t expect anything in return. In fact, when my phone rang the next morning, I braced myself for bad news. Something broken, maybe. A deposit dispute.
