I owned a logistics business.
Moving furniture was not difficult.
The house came partly furnished.
I ordered a new bed.
Dining table.
Two armchairs.
Basic kitchen equipment.
Nothing extravagant.
Then I did something else.
I hired a painter.
And a landscaper.
Not because I could not do the work.
Because I was done proving I could.
Saturday morning, I woke at five.
Habit.
I cleaned the kitchen.
Vacuumed the hall.
Took out trash.
Then carried my two suitcases downstairs.
Vanessa was drinking coffee.
She stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Moving.”
She looked toward the bags.
“Where?”
I pointed through the front window.
“Across the street.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
Ethan came in.
Still half asleep.
“What’s happening?”
“Your dad says he’s moving.”
I nodded.
“I am.”
“Where?”
I pointed again.
He stared through the window.
Then looked at me.
“You bought it?”
“Yes.”
“The house?”
“Yes.”
“In eleven days?”
