Signed for it myself.

Stood alone in the empty kitchen after closing and eaten a sandwich over the sink because I didn’t own a chair yet.

And now my ex-husband was walking through it like he owned the deed.

Another clip loaded.

Vanessa stood on my porch and said,

“Once the sectional is in, I want to measure the windows for drapes.”

Rachel looked at me.

“Call him.”

My thumb hovered over Mark’s name.

For twenty-seven years, this had been my habit.

Mark did something unreasonable.

I called him.

He explained.

And somehow, by the end of the conversation, I would be questioning my own reaction.

Mark wasn’t a screamer.

He was much harder to fight than that.

He was an explainer.

He could turn broken promises, missing money, and obvious lies into misunderstandings with enough words.

I closed his contact.

Instead, I opened the digital copy of my deed.