“No.”
Rebecca smiled without humor.
“The papers you filed to trap him are what removed you.”
“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
