My name is David Miller, and for a month, the neighbors upstairs have turned my nights into a living nightmare. The relentless noise is tearing at my nerves, but the real battle is the silence in my own home—the growing distance between me and my daughter, Helena. Tonight, as I slammed my fist on the radiator, I realized I couldn’t keep quiet anymore, not with the chaos above and the quiet heartbreak within.
I am John Miller, and I clean the courtyard of our South Side Chicago apartment complex. One rainy autumn night, I found myself at the center of a neighborhood controversy, struggling with my own dignity and the judgments of those around me. Over the course of a single week, my job, my family, and my sense of self were pushed to the breaking point.
As I navigate the bustling streets of New York City, my heart races with a mix of excitement and dread. Living alone was supposed to be a testament to my independence, but instead, it has become a haunting reminder of my isolation. Through unexpected encounters and self-discovery, I question whether living by myself truly sets me free or traps me in solitude.
