Chapter 23: The House Sale
259 words
Richard’s frantic texts about the storage unit went unanswered. I blocked his number, then unblocked it just to silence the notifications. I had bigger fish to fry.
I drove to the old house—the peeling gray colonial where I’d spent three decades shrinking myself to fit into Richard’s shadow. It didn't look like a home anymore; it looked like a cage I had escaped. The magnolia tree was dying, choked by weeds Richard promised to pull five years ago.
My real estate agent, a sharp woman named Brenda who smelled of expensive vanilla, hammered a "FOR SALE" sign into the lawn with satisfying violence.
The front door flew open. Richard stood there, disheveled, wearing the same clothes from yesterday. "What the hell are you doing?" he screamed, stumbling down the porch steps. "You can't sell this house! I live here!"
"The deed is in my name, Richard," I said, leaning against my car, arms crossed. "My father bought this house. You never put a dime on the principal. Remember? You said you didn't want your 'capital tied up.'"
He sputtered, looking from me to the sign. "But... tenancy rights! I have rights!"
"You have forty-eight hours before the first showing," Brenda interjected, stepping between us. She handed him a glossy flyer. "Sunday, 1 PM to 4 PM. Open House. If you are on the premises, security will remove you."
Richard tore the flyer in half. "I'm not going anywhere! This is my castle!"
"Then you better tidy up," I said coldly. "It smells like desperation in there."
End of Chapter 23
