Outside, South Pearl rattled with buses and scooters.
I called Tom from the curb because I wanted to hear how fast rumors were moving.
“I’m selling,” I said. “I wanted you to hear it from me.”
There was a silence long enough for me to picture where he was.
Maybe his truck.
Maybe the bench outside the hardware store he loved.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “That’s a big step.”
“I’m sure.”
He exhaled a tired sound.
“Your dad’s coming back earlier than planned. Could be tonight. He mentioned wrapping Dallas sooner. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but it felt urgent.”
The word landed like a warning.
The checklists in my head rearranged themselves with a snap.
Locks that should have been changed yesterday, boxes that should already be on a dolly.
I thanked Tom and ended the call.
On the corner, an amplified guitar chased a melody that didn’t quite settle, like the city was tuning itself for a show it hadn’t announced.
I moved fast.
At home, I opened the kitchen drawer and pulled out the written sheet labeled the rule of silence, smoothing it on the counter as if it were a map.
Find an agent.
Done.
Set price, done.
Schedule inspection, in motion.
That left the hard boundaries.
Locks.
Camera’s storage bank.
The house watched me pack its rooms, absorbing each decision without comment.
I gathered the things that were mine and, with equal care, the things that weren’t.
Dad’s suits.
Kelly’s boxes of seasonal decor.
The framed certificates he’d never hung.
I labeled them.
I stacked them by the door.
It felt like triage.
This stays.
That goes.
This is history with a key attached.
The iPad still lay where it had last night, asleep now, as harmless as any black mirror.
I covered it with a dish towel before I left the room.
Back in the living room, I set Mom’s photo on the mantle and stepped away as if to check the frame was straight.
It was.
The bay window threw rectangles of late morning light onto the floorboards.
My chest felt tight, but my hands were steady.
I took out my phone and opened a new message.
“Gary, this is Ethan Cole. Can you come by this afternoon to change out the front, back, and garage locks?”
The response came fast.
“I can be there by 3.”
Perfect.
I glanced at the clock, then at the list in my wallet.
There was still time to rent a storage unit.
Still time to call Brian to confirm the new account.
Still time to keep every step inside the fence of the law.
I tucked the photo of Mom back where it belonged and straightened my shoulders.
The first piece had moved.