“No.”
Martin continued.
“You have thirty days to vacate.”
“No!”
Claire lunged toward the folder.
Derek stood and moved aside.
Nobody stopped her.
She looked at me.
“This is my home!”
I thought of every wall I had painted.
Every Christmas light I had hung.
Every floorboard Claire and I had chosen together.
The dent in the hallway from when we tried to carry a sofa upstairs.
The mark on the kitchen doorway where we once measured the height of a child we never got to raise.
For years I had thought houses held memories.
Now I understood.
People do.
A house only holds what we refuse to carry away.
“You wanted freedom,” I said.
Claire sobbed.
“This isn’t freedom!”
“No.”
I picked up my jacket.
“This is the bill.”
I walked toward the door.
Derek called after me.
“Cole.”
I stopped.
He looked ashamed.
“I owe you.”
“No.”
