Her question held genuine emotion, as though she couldn’t quite believe what she had found.
I told her, with a small laugh, that I was raised to leave a place better than I found it. That simple lesson has stayed with me all my life. The apartment wasn’t just a rental to me — it was a safe space at a time when I needed one. It sheltered me when I moved for work, when I didn’t know a single person in the city, and when everything around me felt uncertain. Cleaning it wasn’t a task; it was a quiet expression of gratitude.
The tenant before me had left the apartment in harsh condition — neglected, stained, and damaged. She had spent weeks trying to reach them, but they never responded. Over time, she had begun to assume that most renters simply didn’t care.
But she told me my small gesture changed her perspective.
“You reminded me,” she said softly, “that there are still people who treat things — and people — with care.”
After we said goodbye, I sat in my new apartment, surrounded by boxes and the unfamiliar quiet of a fresh start. Her words stayed with me.
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