Chapter 9 - THE NEW HOMEOne year later.
The autumn sun broke warm and bright over a small town fifty miles west of the city.
We had sold our old suburban house and moved to a beautiful four-acre property near the mountains. A place with open fields, tall pine trees, and a house with wide windows that let the sunlight flood every single room.
No memories of Elm Street. No toxic family dinners. Just peace.
I stood on the wide wooden porch, holding a warm cup of black coffee, watching Noah run across the grass with our new golden retriever puppy, Barnaby.
Noah was nine now. He was taller, his cheeks rosy, his laughter loud and clear as he tossed a red tennis ball across the lawn.
Emily walked out onto the porch, wrapping a cozy knit blanket around her shoulders, leaning her head against my arm.
"He looks happy, Michael," she whispered softly.
"He is happy," I smiled, wrapping my arm around her waist. "We all are."
Our business had flourished in the new town. Emily opened her own small interior design studio on Main Street, and I was able to work remotely three days a week, spending every afternoon driving Noah to his soccer practices and science club meetings.
My phone chimed on the porch table.
I picked it up.
It was an email from my former neighbor on Oak Street. Attached was a link to a local real estate listing.
My parents had put their large family home up for sale.
After Sarah's conviction and Mark's public divorce, my father's small business had lost its primary clients. Unable to pay the legal fees and the massive civil settlement our lawyers had secured for Noah's medical trust fund, my parents were moving into a small two-bedroom rental apartment on the outskirts of the state line.
They were completely alone.
No friends. No grand family dinners. No golden daughter to brag about.
I stared at the listing photo of their empty living room for three seconds.
Then I closed the screen, dragged the email into the trash folder, and permanently deleted it.
They were ghosts now. People who belonged to a life I had left behind in the dark basement of Oak Street.
May you like
"Who was that?" Emily asked gently.
"Nobody," I said, setting the phone face down on the wooden table. "Just junk mail."
