W.A. 2 -- Draft 1

Wearily, slowly, the pair trudges up the steps. With no success in finding an apartment, and their imminent failure looming just beyond the horizon… needless to say, it’s not been the best day. It’s Paul’s first year teaching, and though Sarah’s design job pays well, the baby’s on the way, and money’s looking tight.
Sarah’s back aches with the weight of the baby, and Paul tenderly escorts her up the slick steps. The rain beats furiously down upon their backs, pounding home their misery as they stare skyward, dreaming maybe God will help them survive the oppression for just one more hour.
Nervously, Paul points towards the door, gesturing for Sarah to enter. Mustering all the hope she has left, she walks in, and removes her slick rain hood to a dismal sight.
Green mold clings to the walls, squeezing out any hope the two had left of a warm, dry hall. Peeling paint gracefully flakes to the floor, lining the dusty baseboards with a dandruff-like snow. A narrow, rough staircase winds off to the left into the dark upstairs.
Sarah sighs, her dreams ever sinking lower.
“Paul... Really? Let’s just come back. I can’t do this anymore; it's all so horrible.”
“There is no later, our lease is over in a week. Where we are now is just too expensive for us, and this is the last prospect. C’mon, do it for me.”
Deflated, they start towards the apartment. Climbing the stairs, they hear several artful creaks, as though the stairs are heralding their arrival to the world.
Sarah takes a deep breath, as Paul fumbles in his pockets for the keys from the owner. She looks at him, amused, as Paul fidgets, but then notices a petite fleur-de-lis carved just above the doorknob. As she slowly traces the pad of her finger over it, Paul gives one last wriggle, triumphantly pulling the keys from his pocket. Pausing for dramatic effect, he glances back at Sarah, then unlocks the door, gripping her hand firmly in his.
“After you.”
Pushing the door open, Sarah wanders into the most gorgeous space she’s ever seen. Ever.
Dusk is falling, but large amounts of light fall lovingly across the smooth hardwood floors. The rain drums on the roof above, but the double bay windows have an unobstructed view of San Francisco’s lights. The gorgeous hardwood floors are smooth under their feet, as each thinks their own thoughts silently—Paul thinks of sock-sliding on an early Sunday morning, Sarah of her beloved rugs that would look perfect positioned just so.
Sleek, leather, modern furniture dots the rooms, a sharp corner to the apartment’s curves. Photographs of the owner’s family are strategically placed all around, and Sarah rests her hands on her stomach, wistfully dreaming of the day when they can own such a home.
Interrupting, Paul whispers, “I told you so.” Sarah swats at him, grinning all the while. “Isn’t this perfect?”
“Absolutely” Sarah murmurs, feeling so diminutive next to the apartment’s hulking beauty. “Welcome home.”