My words left them all dumbfounded. They looked at me as if I were a ghost.
Patrick, who seemed braced for a fight, was equally taken aback by my calm reaction.
Their disbelief didn’t bother me. In fact, I welcomed it. The happiness they felt now would only make their eventual downfall that much sweeter.
I left the house without another word, their confused stares burning into my back.
In truth, I wasn’t going out of town. I just didn’t want to stay under the same roof as them. Sitting in my car, I started looking for buyers for the house.
Selling the house wasn’t going to be easy. For Patrick’s family, this house was their anchor in San Fransisco—a symbol of stability. Even though my parents had bought it, the painful memories I had here outweighed any attachment I felt. Selling it would be a way to cut ties and give them a lesson they’d never forget.
The location was prime, so I hoped to find a buyer quickly. But after three days, there wasn’t a single response to my listing.
Desperate, I decided to step up my efforts. I stationed myself outside a real estate agency, keeping an eye out for someone wealthy but pliable—a buyer who would make the process easy.