She ruled the apartment building like it was her personal kingdom—seven rowdy kids in tow, grocery carts crashing, her voice echoing through the halls like a siren. She barked orders at neighbors, ordered people out of elevators, and made the lobby her chaotic court. I’d always kept my head down, avoided confrontation, and chalked her behavior up to someone having a hard life.
But when she kicked my deaf grandfather off the elevator—after he’d kindly held the door open for her—it wasn’t just another rude moment. I saw the security footage, watched him look confused, then quietly step aside as she and her army stormed in. That image—my grandfather clutching his groceries, humiliated—lodged in my chest like a splinter. And that’s when something shifted. I knew I couldn’t just watch anymore.Because two weeks later, fate handed me my moment—and I was ready.