When Daniel Harper raised his bidder card that sweltering Saturday morning, his pulse wasn’t racing with the thrill of the chase. Instead, it was heavy with the leaden weight of desperation. At thirty-seven, Daniel was a single father navigating the precarious edges of the lower class in Tulsa, Oklahoma. His world was a two-bedroom apartment that smelled of lingering microwave dinners and a warehouse job that demanded double shifts, leaving his back in a state of perpetual throb and his hands etched with the deep, dry fissures of winter labor.
Ever since his wife had vanished three years prior—leaving nothing but a perfunctory note and a void in their eight-year-old daughter Lily’s life—Daniel had become a master of the impossible. He was the breadwinner, the bedtime storyteller, the homework tutor, and the primary source of emotional stability. But the math of survival was no longer adding up. A firm, fluorescent notice was taped to his door: Rent Past Due. Final Warning. He had $413 in his checking account, and the landlord required $1,200 by Monday morning.
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