A for sale sign had been hammered into the grass.
Alec, dude, I don’t think they expected you to really vanish. They’re listing the house.
I stared at the image for a long time selling the house.
The house I’d spent years maintaining while they were off skiing or sightseeing. The house I’d painted last spring on my own while Bianca threw a tantrum about her phone service.
The house that still had my desk, my books, my childhood photos shoved into drawers like clutter.
They were trying to erase the last place I had history in.
And I realized something deeper then.
That this wasn’t just about punishing me. It was about reclaiming control.
If I was going to act out of character, then they’d rewrite the character. Sell the setting, move on.
But I wasn’t the same kid who would take that line down anymore.
I facetimed Alec for the first time since I left.
“Yo,” he answered, clearly surprised. “You good?”
“I’m better than good,” I said. “But I need a favor.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Say the word.”
“Can you swing by the house again? I need to make sure something’s still there.”
“What am I looking for?”
“There’s a black lock box in the attic, hidden behind the insulation on the left side. I stashed it there last year.”
“Sketchy,” he joked. “What’s in it?”
“My insurance,” I said, voicecom. “Stuff they don’t know I took copies of stuff I don’t think they ever wanted me to find in the first place.”
Alec whistled like documents.
“Yeah. Bank transfers, college fund logs, property titles, things that don’t add up when you look close enough.”
The screen went quiet for a beat.