On the winter solstice, I threw Grandma Chen's luggage, an eighty-year-old tenant, into the hallway.
Ignoring her bewildered expression and my husband's shocked gaze, I shoved her out the door.
"Please..." Grandma Chen's voice trembled, tears filling her cloudy eyes. "I... I have nowhere to go..."
My husband rushed over and grabbed me. "Have you lost your mind? Grandma Chen is over eighty!"
I shook off his hand and looked coldly at the old woman's cracked fingers gripping the doorframe.
"Either she leaves on her own," I said without mercy, "or I'll make her leave."
My husband stared at me in disbelief, while Grandma Chen continued to sob softly. "I'll go now... I'll go..."
Hunched over, she shuffled step by step toward the elevator, her frail figure shivering in the hallway.
I slammed the door shut, shutting out every sound.
In your pseudo-human world, would you be shot if you directly called the police?