He finally nodded, turning around and walking out.
Two days later, the moving truck arrived.
They left on a Tuesday morning.
There were no dramatic hugs, no tearful goodbyes. They loaded their boxes, handed over the spare keys, and drove away.
I stood on the front porch and watched their car disappear down the street.
The house was quiet, but for the first time in 8 months, it wasn’t a heavy, oppressive silence.
It was the peaceful quiet of a space that belonged entirely to me.
The house sold above the asking price.
A week later, I moved into my new condo the following month.
It was everything I wanted, bright, airy, with a large balcony overlooking a community garden. There was no yard to mow, no empty guest rooms waiting to be filled, and no one demanding my time or my money.
I decorated it exactly how I wanted. I bought a velvet armchair Sarah would have hated. I stocked the fridge with exactly what I like to eat.
