His eyes widened.
For a moment, he looked genuinely uncomfortable, so he had heard her. Or perhaps he had known exactly what she had been saying all along.
“I think you should go,” I told him.
“Mom.”
“Go.”
He stood there for another moment before turning away. I closed the door.
The new deadbolt clicked into place.
And as I listened to his footsteps fade across the lawn, I realized something important. Taking back the phone plan, the utilities, and the SUV had felt good. But every morning, I still looked out my window and saw the main house.
I saw Belle watching me from inside. I felt the resentment growing across the property.
This wasn’t peace. It was a temporary truce.
And suddenly, I knew exactly what I wanted: a complete fresh start.
That afternoon, I reached for my phone and called an old friend. Her name was Serena Holloway, and she had been selling real estate for almost 30 years.
Serena arrived less than an hour after I called her. She was one of those people who could walk into a difficult situation, understand everything in 5 minutes, and never make you feel foolish for waiting too long to act.
After greeting me, she looked around the cottage and smiled.
“So,” she said, “what exactly are you thinking?”
“I want out.”
Her smile faded slightly.
“Out of what?”
I looked through the kitchen window toward the main house.
“This entire arrangement.”
Serena followed my gaze. She knew Adrien and Belle had been living on the property. Although I had never shared every detail of our family problems.
“You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
We spent the next hour walking around the property. The main house was still beautiful despite Belle’s decorating choices. The yard was large, the neighborhood was desirable, and the separate cottage gave the property an unusual advantage.
When we finished, Serena stopped near the driveway.
“Camille, you know what you have here?”
“A headache.”
She laughed.
“A valuable property.”
She explained that the combination of the main house and renovated cottage would attract buyers looking for multi-generational living, a private office, or a separate space for guests.
“How quickly could it sell?” I asked.
“In this market, if we price it correctly, very quickly.”
“Then list it.”
Serena studied my face.
“What about Adrien toel?”
“My name is the only one on the deed.”
“Do they have a lease?”
“No.”
She nodded slowly.
“Then before we do anything, make sure you follow the proper legal process for ending their occupancy.”
Of course. I had already spent enough years making decisions based on emotion. I wasn’t going to make another major decision carelessly.
After speaking with my attorney and confirming the appropriate steps, I gave Adrien and Belle formal written notice according to the rules that applied to their arrangement.
Then I signed the listing agreement.
For the first time in years, I felt something I hadn’t expected.
Excitement.
That evening, I opened several boxes and began sorting through old photographs, books, and belongings. I found a picture of my late husband, Malcolm, standing beside me on the day we bought the property.
We had been younger then. The house had been full of possibilities.