#Statement: Content warning: This article contains mentions of suicide. I stood in front of an ordinary wooden door watching the time on my phone, held in a shaky hand, count up. At 4:10 p.m., I would have to knock on that door. At 4:10 p.m., I would have to walk into that room not knowing if I would walk out with an eviction notice in hand. It was April 2025, and I was in the lobby of Mary Markley Residence Hall where I worked as a resident adviser. My supervisor and his boss waited on the other side of the door. Would I be the next in a series of fired R.A.s? Would I be the next Christopher Son? Would I lose my housing and meal plan in an instant? Would I be forced to scramble for a place to live in Ann Arbor, a city known for its affordability crisis, during finals season? I had no clue, and I was terrified, my body a mess of nerves and sweat and jittering limbs. 4:10 p.m. I breathed, I knocked and I entered. To read more, click the link in our bio. ✍️: Nolan Sargent 🎨: Carolin...