That house held some of my saddest memories.
But it also held evidence that I’d survived them.
I wasn’t ready to lose that too.
The judge had finally ruled in my favor.
Brian was given two weeks to remove his belongings.
I’d waited an extra day after the deadline because I didn’t want another confrontation.
For twenty minutes, I’d sat in my car at the end of the driveway, gathering the courage to walk inside.
Now, hearing the water, I wished I’d brought someone with me.
The entryway was almost empty.
Brian had taken the little wooden bench, the coat rack, and the narrow table where we used to leave our keys.
Pale rectangles marked the walls where photographs had hung.
I’d expected that.
What I hadn’t expected was the damp smell.
It reminded me of a basement after heavy rain.
I walked into the living room.
