I thought about my father.
The way he’d insisted I understand my own finances.
The framed deed hanging in the office.
His quiet reminder:
“Never forget what’s yours, Debby.”
At the time, I’d thought he was talking about property.
Now I understood it meant something more.
My time.
My choices.
My independence.
My right to build a peaceful life.
Margaret joined me a few minutes later.
She poured herself coffee and sat across from me.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Outside, the maple tree in the front yard had begun turning orange and red.
“Are you all right?” she finally asked.
I considered the question.
“Not completely.”
She nodded.
“But I think I will be.”
Margaret smiled.
“That’s a good beginning.”
I looked toward the front door.
A few days earlier, Rachel had stood there expecting me to hand over my home.
She’d believed she was arriving to replace me.
Tyler had apparently believed I would accept whatever arrangement he proposed.
