Chapter 4 - Moving Day
Two weeks later, the sun came out.
The Virginia air was crisp and smelled of damp earth and woodsmoke as Kate and I stood on the sidewalk outside the brick apartment building in Alexandria. A commercial moving truck with Vance & Associates Legal Logistics painted on the side was parked illegally across two visitor spaces, its hydraulic lift gate whining as it lowered a heavy oak dresser to the curb.
Upstairs, Paige was packing her boxes into black plastic garbage bags, her mother Brenda standing on the balcony yelling at the driver about scratched paintwork.
I didn’t go inside. I didn’t need to.
My hair was growing back in a soft, dark fuzz above my right ear, a little halo of survival that felt lighter than any hat I had ever worn. The scar was healing into a thin, silver line that would soon be hidden beneath my curls.
Dana walked out of the lobby carrying a clipboard, her trench coat flapping in the breeze. She handed me a manila folder—a new one, thin and clean.
“The deed is transferred back to the primary trust,” Dana said, signing off on the clipboard with a flourish. “The condo is officially yours, free and clear. Russell has relocated to a two-bedroom rental three miles away with Paige and her mother, and the cabinet shop in Richmond is currently in receivership.”
“And the truck?” I asked.
Dana smiled—a sharp, brilliant flash of white teeth. “Toby’s truck was repossessed yesterday morning while he was parked at a Wawa. Apparently, the financing company didn't appreciate learning that the collateral was tied to fraudulent mortgage deeds.”
I looked up at the third-floor balcony. Paige was standing there holding a baby carrier in one hand and a cardboard box in the other, her face pinched and pale against the bright autumn light. For a brief second, our eyes met across the courtyard.
She didn’t wave. She turned her back and walked inside, pulling the sliding glass door shut behind her with a dull, heavy thud.
Kate slipped her arm through mine, leaning her head against my shoulder.
“So,” Kate said softly. “What do we do with the Lynchburg house this weekend? Are we opening the windows, or are we burning sage?”
May you like
I took a deep breath of the cold, clean air—no hospital smells, no stale office paper, no lies hanging in the corners.
“We’re opening every single window,” I said, turning toward the car. “And then we’re going to get pancakes.”
