I opened it.
After fees, taxes, and the remaining small balance on a renovation line, the amount that would hit my account was substantial.
More than two hundred thousand dollars above what I had originally put into the property.
Melissa watched me.
“Worth it?”
I looked at the house one final time.
“The money?”
“No.”
She nodded toward the Sold sign.
“This.”
I thought about Clare.
About our daughter.
About my mother asking how she had let things get this bad.
About Dad, for the first time in thirty-two years, refusing to rescue Tessa.
About my sister sitting in a hotel room with stolen cash, suddenly discovering that the world did not automatically rearrange itself around her emotions.
“Yes,” I said.
“It was.”
My parents moved into a two-bedroom apartment twelve minutes from their old neighborhood.
For the first month, Dad complained constantly.
Parking.
Elevators.
Neighbors.
Rent.
Someone upstairs who apparently “walked like a rhinoceros.”
