Paying three hundred thousand dollars of debt before being ordered out of the house
He stared at me, his mouth opening slightly as if to speak, but no words came out.
I opened my car door, slid into the driver’s seat, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine started with a low hum, and I drove out of the parking lot without looking back at him in the rearview mirror.
The drive back to Elmwood Avenue was quiet, the city lights fading into the darker, tree-lined streets of the suburbs. The brick facade of the house was shadowed by the old oaks that lined the driveway, their branches casting long, skeletal fingers across the lawn.
I carried only my briefcase and the blue folder containing the signed deed documents.
Inside, the house was dark and still. I did not turn on the overhead lights in the hallway or the kitchen. Instead, I switched on the small brass lamp on the sideboard, casting a soft, yellow glow across the vintage mahogany dining table.
The kitchen felt larger now, the empty corners stretching into the shadows. For seven months, every decision had been a calculation, a battle fought with spreadsheets and legal briefs to protect my financial survival.
