It’s the first of the month, and everybody knows the rent’s due. For millions of Americans, Wednesday is the first time the landlord is knocking on the door since the coronavirus outbreak turned the economy upside down.

Many of those renters are without jobs – nearly 3.3 million people in the U.S. filed for unemployment the week of March 16, about five times the previous high in 1982. Most state and local governments are putting evictions on pause as states prepare to pay unemployment and the federal government prepares to send stimulus checks. So for most, April’s knock won’t come with a notice to get out.

But a roof over the head is one of the most basic needs in life. Without money for rent, how can the other bills get paid? And while many will get a reprieve in April, eventually the rent comes due, whether or not the restaurant, plant or construction site reopens when the COVID-19 threat lessens.

Here are some of the stories of Americans trying to make the rent, this month and beyond.

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At 21 years old, Jade Brooks pulls in her family’s only full-time salary, working at a hospital switchboard.

Brooks’ mother just lost her job at a health insurance company – a casualty of the plummeting economy. She’s found part-time work at the hospital, but between them, they make only $400 weekly after taxes and insurance, Brooks said. Their rent is $1,810.

During sleepless nights, Brooks worries most about her 8-year-old cousin, who lives with them.

“I don’t want her to grow up in a homeless shelter, having to sleep in a bunk bed with other people, asking why we have to stand in a long line to get a room to sleep in, why we have to stand in a long line to get food, why she can’t invite her friends over,” Brooks said. “It’s hard to explain that to an 8-year-old.”

¯ Michael Casey, Boston

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Itza Sanchez knows she can’t make her $400 rent for April. She’s praying to Virgin of Guadalupe that she doesn’t get kicked out of her Richmond, Virginia, mobile-home park.

Sanchez made her money searching for and recycling scrap metal and selling tamales in a heavily Hispanic neighborhood. Fear of getting sick has stopped both income streams.

A single mother of two who immigrated from Honduras to the U.S. 14 years ago, Sanchez’s 7-year-old daughter and 11-year-old son have been eating lunches delivered to the neighborhood by schools and depending on churches for other meals.

“I’m basically penniless,” Sanchez, 39, said in Spanish.

She hasn’t heard from the landlord about what will happen if the rent isn’t paid. So she keeps praying.

“May she help us. May the virgin put her love over us and help us.”

¯ Regina Garcia Cano, Washington

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Andrea Larson made $70,000 a year curating wine lists and suggesting pairings to customers at 5th & Taylor. But the popular Nashville restaurant closed its dining area, and working as a sommelier isn’t something Larson can do from home.

The first unemployment check was $275 for a week. Larson said she was humiliated but applied for food stamps.

“I’m screwed financially,” Larson said. “If I do pay my rent, it’s going to eat into my food money.”

Larson, 42, moved from a high-rise downtown apartment to a house in east Nashville four months ago. Rent was cheaper. She planned to pay off debt and start saving. Instead, she called credit-card companies and said she couldn’t pay the minimum.

Larson’s restaurant offered a few shifts answering phones for takeout, but she figures it’s not worth the risk of getting COVID-19.

“I do wine, and nobody wants to hear about wine right now,” she said. “They just want to chug it.”

¯ Travis Loller, Nashville

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Roushaunda Williams was able to scrimp and use credit-card cash advances to pay the $1,850 rent for April for her two-bedroom Uptown Chicago apartment.

But the rent comes due again in 30 days. Can she afford a smaller apartment in her building if one’s available? Should she move in with friends if they’ll let her?

“April 1 isn’t even here yet, and I’m already working on what I’m going to do for May 1,” Williams, 52, said.

¯ Kathleen Foody, Chicago