I picked up my phone.
My financial advisor, Diane, had worked with William and me for years.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Eleanor?”
“Hi, Diane.”
“Everything okay?”
I looked at the stack of flattened cardboard boxes Jessica had left in the hallway.
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
For the first time in months, I actually meant it.
“I think I’m ready to buy another home.”
Diane was quiet.
Then she said, “I wondered when you might say that.”
“You did?”
“You’ve sounded restless lately.”
“I’ve been ridiculous.”
“No.”
“I sold a perfectly good condo and moved into my son’s guest room.”
“You were grieving.”
“I’m still grieving.”
“That doesn’t mean every decision you made was permanent.”
I let that settle.
“What can I comfortably spend without touching the long-term part of the portfolio?”
She gave me a range.
It was higher than I expected.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t need anything large.”
“Then don’t buy large.”
“I want something easy.”
“Then buy easy.”
I smiled.
William had liked Diane because she had no patience for turning simple financial decisions into philosophical questions.
The next morning, I called Marjorie.
“Are you busy tomorrow?”
“Why?”
“I want to look at houses.”
There was silence.
Then she practically shouted, “Finally.”
I laughed.
“Was everyone waiting for me?”
“Only everyone with eyes.”
We saw five properties the first weekend.
Three were wrong immediately.
One had too many stairs.
Another backed onto a busy road.
A third had an enormous yard that made my knees hurt just looking at it.
The fourth was attractive but dark inside.
Then we saw a small single-story house in a fifty-five-plus community about twenty-five minutes from Tyler.
It had two bedrooms.
A bright kitchen.
A screened patio.
A little office with built-in shelves.
The yard was maintained by the homeowners association.
The primary bedroom had two windows facing east.
When I walked inside, something happened that I had not expected.
I imagined waking up there.
Not with William.
I was finally beginning to understand that imagining a future without him was not the same as leaving him behind.
I walked onto the screened patio.
There was a maple tree beyond the fence.
A woman two houses down was watering flowers.
Somewhere nearby, someone was playing old Motown music.
Marjorie stood beside me.
“Well?”
“I like it.”
“You’ve said that about exactly zero of the other houses.”
“I know.”
“You should call the agent.”
I did.
Two days later, I made an offer.
It was accepted.
I did not tell Tyler.
I wish I could say I kept the purchase private because I wanted a dramatic reveal.
The truth was less satisfying.
I was afraid he would talk me out of it.
Not because the purchase was irresponsible.
Because I had become accustomed to doubting myself whenever Tyler disagreed with me.
Diane reviewed the numbers.
The inspection came back clean except for minor issues.
I paid cash from the condo sale proceeds and a short-term account William and I had always kept for major purchases.
I still had substantial retirement savings afterward.
I signed the closing papers on a Thursday morning.
For the first time in nearly two years, I had a home of my own.
That afternoon, I sat alone in the empty living room.
I should have felt triumphant.
Instead, I cried.
Grief arrived unexpectedly like that.
I wished William could have seen the place.
I imagined him inspecting the water heater, testing every window latch, and complaining that the previous owner had used the wrong kind of anchors for the garage shelving.
Then I heard his voice in my head.
Good bones, Ellie.
He always said that about houses.
I wiped my face.
“All right, Bill,” I whispered. “Good bones.”
I spent the next month getting ready quietly.
I bought a sofa.
A dining table.
A new mattress.
I ordered curtains and a modest patio set.
Marjorie helped me choose lamps.
I moved small items while Tyler and Jessica were working.
Nobody noticed.
That alone told me something.
For people who claimed I was part of the household, they paid surprisingly little attention to my actual life.
Then Tyler raised my rent.
It happened on a Sunday.