At 4 a.m. every day, Mrs. Dragu made noise—slamming doors, dragging her cane, laughing to herself. Tenants fled. Then Marcus moved in… and stayed.
After she died, we found her apartment filled with hidden letters to someone named Jonas—full of grief, drawings, and love. Marcus read them and quietly said, “She told me about him.”
He found her violin and a note: “Find your own voice.” The next morning, we heard music. Soft, healing, beautiful.
She wasn’t crazy. She was mourning.
Marcus didn’t just rent the place—he saw her. And he helped the rest of us finally listen.
