Chapter 9 - The Empty HouseThree weeks later, I returned to the house on the hill, accompanied by two police deputies and Marisol.
The estate was quiet, almost eerie in its stillness. Grant had already packed his belongings and moved into a downtown condo paid for by his mother. The locks had been professionally changed, and the heavy brass deadbolt Grant once used to lock me in now kept him out.
I walked through the master bedroom. The sun streamed through the window, catching the spot on the floor where my emerald dress had been shredded into pieces. I felt no sorrow, only a profound, crystalline peace.
On the dresser sat a single envelope addressed in Grant’s tight, controlled handwriting.
I opened it with steady fingers. Inside was a short, bitter note: You destroyed everything over a career that won't even remember your name in five years.
I let out a soft, dry laugh, folded the paper, and dropped it straight into the metal trash can by the desk. I didn't need to reply. Actions spoke louder than ink.
Marisol walked into the room holding a small cardboard box containing my old childhood books and a few remaining personal items. “The appraisers are finishing up downstairs. The house will be signed over to your sole ownership by Friday, per the temporary settlement.”
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“Good,” I said, resting both hands on my belly, which was now noticeably rounder and fuller. “Let’s turn this place into transitional housing for BrightSteps clients. There are enough rooms here for six mothers and their newborns.”
Marisol grinned widely. “Now that is an executive decision I can fully support.”
