I stopped breathing for a second.
Then:
There’s a notice on the door with some company’s name. CALL ME.
My phone rang.
I let it ring.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Then a voicemail.
I played it.
My mother was screaming.
“What did you do? There are people here saying you SOLD THE HOUSE! Call me immediately! You cannot sell our home without discussing it with us!”
Our home.
Not mine.
Not the house I had purchased with my ex-husband.
Not the house whose taxes I had paid.
Not the asset I had sacrificed so they could live comfortably.
Our home.
The phone rang again.
This time, I answered.
“Hello?”
“WHAT DID YOU DO?”
Maya and Grace were coloring at the kitchen table.
I stepped onto the balcony and closed the door.
“I sold my house.”
“You sold our house!”
“No.”
“You know what I mean!”
“I do. That’s the problem.”
