Chương 7
“I know,” I replied.
“I also cannot ask Gavin to move out immediately.”
Gavin looked at her.
“I’m not a child.”
“No,” she said.
“But you are also not prepared.”
The honesty made him uncomfortable.
He looked toward the window.
For years, he had been protected from consequences.
Now consequences had finally reached him.
Arthur folded his hands.
“What is your preferred outcome, Felicia?”
I thought about the question.
Not the legal answer.
The real answer.
“I want the house to be treated honestly.”
Nobody interrupted.
“I don’t want Valerie forced into losing everything.”
Valerie looked at me.
“But I also don’t want the past erased.”
Arthur nodded slowly.
“That is reasonable.”
I looked at Gavin.
“And I want Gavin to understand something.”
His expression changed.
“What?”
“I don’t hate you.”
He looked surprised.
“I never said you did.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He looked down.
“I think I was angry because I thought you were leaving us.”
The statement confused me.
“I left because you told me to.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“I mean before that.”
I waited.
“I think I knew you were unhappy.”
That caught my attention.
“You did?”
“Sometimes.”
He swallowed.
“You would come home from work and just sit in your car for a few minutes.”
I stared at him.
I had forgotten he could see that.
“I thought you were talking on the phone.”
“No.”
I looked away.
“I was preparing myself to go inside.”
The room became quiet.
Even Valerie looked away.
That was the part nobody saw.
Not the arguments.
Not the bills.
Not the repairs.
The small moments when a person gathers enough energy to enter a place where they do not feel wanted.
Gavin cleared his throat.
“I should have said something.”
“Yes.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
It was not an apology that fixed everything.
But it was the first one he gave without being forced.
The meeting ended with an agreement.
Not a perfect one.
A realistic one.
Valerie would sell the Salem property.
The proceeds would go toward purchasing my ownership share.
Until the transaction was complete, she would maintain the house responsibly.
Gavin would contribute to expenses.
Not because I demanded it.
Because he needed to learn.
Arthur prepared the paperwork.
Everyone signed.
When I placed my signature on the final page, my hand paused.
A strange feeling moved through me.
The house that had represented my father.
My mother.
My childhood.
My grief.
My anger.
It was becoming something else.
A decision.
Not a prison.
Outside the office, Valerie stood beside me.
“I never thanked you.”
I looked at her.
“For what?”
“For giving me a chance to fix this.”
I considered my answer.
“I’m not sure I gave you that.”
She nodded.
“That’s fair.”
A small smile appeared.
“You gave yourself a chance.”
I looked at her carefully.
That was the closest thing to understanding she had offered.
“Maybe.”
She adjusted her coat.
“I’m going to miss you.”
The honesty surprised me.
“I’m still here.”
“I know.”
She looked toward the parking lot.
“But things are different.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Different can be painful.”
“It can.”
“But it can also be better.”
I did not answer.
Because I was still learning to believe that.
A few days later, I returned to the old house.
Not because I was moving back.
Because I needed to collect the last of my belongings.
Walking through the front door felt strange.
The walls looked the same.
The furniture was in the same places.
The kitchen counter still had the small scratch near the corner from when I dropped a heavy pan years ago.
But something about the house had changed.
Or maybe I had.
Valerie was in the kitchen.
She looked nervous.
“You can take anything that belongs to you.”
“I know.”
“I mean anything.”
I looked at her.
She took a breath.
“I used to think letting go meant losing.”
The sentence sounded like something she had been thinking about for a long time.
“Now I think sometimes holding too tightly is what makes people leave.”
I did not know what to say.
So I did not force myself to say something meaningful.
I simply nodded.
Upstairs, I packed the remaining items.
Old books.
A few clothes.
My mother’s recipe box.
My father’s toolbox.
When I reached the closet, I found something unexpected.
A small cardboard box pushed behind the shelves.
I recognized it immediately.
It was mine.
But I had forgotten about it.
Inside were childhood drawings.
School certificates.
A ticket stub from my first concert.
A birthday card from my father.
I sat on the floor and looked through everything.
The memories did not hurt the way they used to.
They felt like proof that my life had existed beyond the last two years of conflict.
A knock came at the door.
“Felicia?”
I wiped my face quickly.
“Come in.”
Valerie stood there.
She looked at the box.
“I forgot about that.”
“So did I.”
She smiled slightly.
“Your father kept everything.”
“He did.”
“He kept a receipt from a fishing trip for twenty years.”
I laughed softly.
“That sounds like him.”
For a moment, we were not opponents.
We were two people who had loved the same man in different ways.
Then the moment passed.
Because reality still existed.
“I wanted to ask you something,” she said.
“Okay.”
“After everything.”
She paused.
“Do you think we can ever be okay?”
I looked at her.
Not the woman who told me to leave.
Not the woman who made mistakes.
Just Valerie.
A person who had hurt me and had also finally started facing why.
“I don’t know.”
She nodded.
“I understand.”
“But I think maybe we can be honest.”
“That would be a start.”
“Yes.”
She smiled faintly.
“A small one.”
“Small is okay.”
I carried the box downstairs.
Gavin was waiting near the door.
He looked uncomfortable.
“I wanted to say something.”
I raised an eyebrow.
May you like
“That sounds serious.”
He almost smiled.
