I had built my entire adult identity around being the person who knew what to do next.
Standing there with my newborn daughter against my chest, I realized I didn’t know what came next.
That frightened me more than the locked door.
Evelyn looked toward the keypad.
“You tried the backup code?”
“Yes.”
“The physical key?”
“The smart lock was changed completely.”
“Garage?”
“Disconnected from my app.”
She stared at the house.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Phoebe.
I have the deed, prenup, title history, and tax records. Everything is exactly as you remembered. I’m contacting the buyer’s attorney. Do not communicate with Luca about the sale yet.
I showed Evelyn.
Her eyebrows lifted.
“You were serious.”
“I told Phoebe to sell it.”
“I know, but there’s serious and then there’s you-serious.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means most people say ‘sell the house’ after a bad argument. You call an attorney and apparently begin transferring seven figures of real estate before dinner.”
Despite everything, a faint laugh escaped me.
It hurt my incision.
I winced.
Evelyn immediately stopped smiling.
