My finances were secure.
My living arrangements were changing.
My property investments were moving forward.
And most importantly, plans were underway for me to leave Sunset Manor.
Several weeks later, Dominic sent another postcard.
Venice this time.
Living like royalty. Five-star hotels, incredible restaurants. So glad we finally made this dream happen. Missing you.
Missing me.
Margaret had begun receiving financial documentation through the case.
The spending was staggering.
Luxury hotels.
First-class flights.
Designer stores.
Expensive restaurants.
A costly watch for Amber.
Thousands spent in single afternoons.
Money from my home was disappearing across Europe one receipt at a time.
“They’ve spent most of it,” Margaret told me during one meeting.
I stared at the report.
“While I’ve been living here.”
“Yes.”
“When are they coming home?”
“Tuesday.”
I nodded.
“Good.”
Because by Tuesday, I would no longer be in room 207.
—
The morning I left Sunset Manor, Dorothy came downstairs with me.
I carried the same suitcase Dominic had packed.
But I was not the same woman who had arrived with it.
Linda was waiting outside.
When we reached my neighborhood, I felt my throat tighten.
My roses.
My driveway.
My front porch.
Home.
Through the legal process and a negotiated resolution involving the parties to the disputed sale, possession of the property had returned to me while the remaining financial claims continued separately.
I stepped onto the porch.
Dorothy stood beside me.
“So this is it.”
“This is it.”
“I understand why you fought for it.”
The front door opened.
Inside, the house looked familiar but different.
My belongings were being returned from storage.
Harold’s chair.
My grandmother’s lamp.
Family photographs.
Books.
Dishes.
Boxes I thought I might never see again.
But I didn’t restore everything exactly as it had been.
That surprised me.
I chose new paint.
Bought a different couch.
Moved furniture.
Added brighter curtains.
Installed a modern security system.
The house would always hold my history with Harold.
But it would no longer be a museum dedicated to the past.
It was going to become my home again.
My present.
My future.
That evening, I cooked dinner in my own kitchen.
The smell of jasmine drifted through the window.
For the first time in weeks, I ate exactly what I wanted, exactly when I wanted.
My phone rang.
Margaret.
“They landed.”
I set down my fork.
“And?”
“They’ve received formal notice of the proceedings.”
I leaned back.
“What happened?”
“Dominic immediately contacted counsel.”
I almost smiled.
Of course he did.
“Do not discuss the legal case directly if he calls,” Margaret reminded me.
“I understand.”
But Dominic didn’t call.
Two hours later, someone slammed a car door in my driveway.
Then another.
The doorbell rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then came pounding.
“Mom!”
I remained in my chair for several seconds.
“Mom, open the door!”
I stood.
Walked to the entrance.
And opened it.
Dominic and Amber stood on my porch.
The glamorous European travelers looked very different now.
Wrinkled clothing.
Tired faces.
Panic.
Dominic held a stack of legal papers.
“What is this?”
I glanced at them.
“Welcome home.”
“How are you here?” Amber demanded.
Her eyes darted past me into the house.
“You’re supposed to be at Sunset Manor.”
“No.”
I looked directly at her.
“That was your plan for me.”
Dominic stepped forward.
“Mom, we can fix this.”
“How?”
“The trip was expensive, but we still have some money left.”
“How much?”
Silence.
“Dominic?”
Amber answered.
“About seventy thousand.”
I let the number hang between us.
Two hundred fifty thousand dollars.
Continue reading on the next page →
