I bought this house from hems and broken zippers and nights without sleep. You were never going to bully me out of it. You were only going to teach me how little room I have left in my life for people who mistake kindness for weakness.”
By four o’clock they were gone.
The locksmith changed the front lock, then the side, then the mudroom deadbolt, and handed me three fresh keys on a brass ring that felt almost absurdly heavy in my palm. The patrol car pulled away. Mara squeezed my shoulder once before leaving. Ruiz gave me his card. Then they were all gone.
And just like that, it was me, my house, and the aftermath.
I stepped inside and closed the door.
The smell was wrong. Too much fabric softener and fried food. Sand had tracked across my floors. Someone had moved the wicker chair I kept beside the reading corner and not put it back.
