Then she noticed several moving boxes.
“Are you redecorating?”
“No.”
“What’s happening?”
“I’m selling the penthouse.”
She stared at me.
“Because of what I did?”
I shook my head.
“Because I’ve changed.”
For years, I’d believed safety meant living high above everyone else, behind reinforced doors, cameras, and complicated access codes.
I’d worked hard for that apartment.
It represented everything I’d achieved without my parents’ help.
But after everything that happened, I realized I no longer wanted my home to symbolize how much I feared letting people close.
I wanted somewhere that felt like a beginning rather than a fortress.
The penthouse sold the following May.
After closing, I met Paige and her children outside the building.
Elise joined us carrying a folder.
Inside were documents establishing something I’d been planning for months.
The Hazel House Trust.
I’d used part of the money recovered through the estate review, some proceeds from the penthouse sale, and additional personal savings to establish a fund supporting women and children leaving unstable family situations.
