Dorothea Puentes's Arc

Chapter 2 of 9

Dorothea sat at her kitchen table with a spiral notebook open in front of her. She needed to prepare for the social worker's questions. The first step was writing down every tenant's name and their room number. She clicked her pen and started the list. Mr. Chen in room three. Mrs. Wallace in room five. Each name had to match perfectly with the rent receipts in her file box. She couldn't let anything look messy or confused. The social worker would check everything. Dorothea wrote slowly, making sure her handwriting stayed neat and clear. This was how trust began—with perfect records and honest answers. She closed the notebook and tucked it into her purse. Tomorrow she would go to the social services office herself. Waiting for another home visit felt wrong. Taking action showed she had nothing to hide. The next morning, Dorothea stood at the bottom of the concrete steps. The social services office rose in front of her, all glass doors and clean lines. She pushed through the entrance and walked to the front desk. A woman looked up and asked how she could help. Dorothea gave her name and said she wanted to speak with whoever handled the complaint about her boarding house. The woman made a phone call, then pointed to a row of chairs against the wall. Dorothea sat down and placed her purse on her lap. Her notebook was inside, ready. She had taken the first real step toward fixing this problem. She would show them her records. She would answer every question. And she would prove that the complaints were wrong. A door opened down the hall. A man in a gray suit walked toward her carrying a folder. He introduced himself as the case worker assigned to her file. Dorothea stood and shook his hand firmly. He led her to a small office with two chairs facing each other across a desk. She sat down and pulled out her notebook before he even asked. The man looked surprised. She opened to the first page and showed him the list of tenants with their room numbers. Then she showed him the receipts she had brought. He flipped through the papers slowly, his face giving away nothing. Dorothea kept her hands folded in her lap and waited. Back at the boarding house that afternoon, Dorothea walked into the backyard. She needed to do something normal after the meeting. The wrought iron table and chairs sat near the back door, their marble top catching the afternoon light. She wiped down the surface and arranged the chairs evenly. A laundry line stretched between the buildings, rope pulled tight between two steel posts. One of her tenants had hung shirts there this morning. The sleeves moved slightly in the breeze. Everything looked orderly. Everything looked cared for. The social worker had taken her notebook and said he would review her records. He hadn't smiled, but he had thanked her for coming in. That was something. That was a beginning.