It wasn’t extravagant.
There were no marble floors or panoramic windows.
But it had a little patio, a bright kitchen, and bedrooms for both children.
On moving day, Tyler stood in the doorway holding a box of books.
“Mom, do we really live here now?”
Paige knelt beside him.
“Yes, sweetheart. We have a lease, our own keys, and permission to be here.”
He considered that answer.
Then he smiled.
“That’s better than what happened at Aunt Marissa’s.”
Paige hugged him.
“Yes. Much better.”
Our parents had moved into a smaller home after selling their previous property to satisfy part of their financial obligations.
Mom sent another letter.
Most of it explained how much she’d suffered.
There was an apology near the end.
I didn’t answer.
Paige responded through her attorney, making clear that she and the children were safe and that future contact needed to respect her boundaries.
