The exodus wasn’t graceful. It was chaotic, full of blame-shifting and loud complaints. Patricia muttered about “false advertising.” Kevin’s girlfriend whined about her ruined vacation. Rachel’s teenagers looked relieved, like escaping adults was a reward.
Brandon tried one last intimidation. “You’re making a mistake,” he said. “You think you can live alone in a house this big? What happens when you fall? When you can’t manage it? You’ll need family and we won’t be there.”
He said it like a weapon.
I smiled softly.
“You know what, Brandon?” I said. “You’re right. It is too much responsibility for someone my age.”
His expression shifted into smug satisfaction.
“So,” I continued, “that’s why I sold it.”
The words dropped like a bomb.
Melissa froze mid-fold. Patricia’s mouth opened. Brandon’s face went blank.
“What do you mean sold it?” Patricia demanded.
I walked to my desk and retrieved a folder, thick and official-looking. “I mean I transferred it yesterday morning,” I said. “Quick closing. Convenient timing.”
Brandon stammered. “But you can’t—We’re staying here—We have plans—”