CHAPTER 5: GOING HOME
CHAPTER 5: GOING HOME
I cried for exactly three minutes.
Then I folded my father's note and slipped it into my pocket.
Not because everything was forgiven.
Not because I suddenly knew how to fix any of this.
But because, for the first time in days, someone in my family had finally admitted what was really at stake.
It had never been the house.
It had been us.
And now, there might not be an us anymore.
A small voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Mom?"
I turned.
Ella was sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes.
"Why are you crying?"
I quickly wiped my face.
"I'm okay, sweetheart."
She studied me for a moment.
Children always knew when adults were pretending.
"Are you sad?"
I sat beside her.
"A little."
"Because of Grandma?"
I hesitated.
"Partly."
She looked down at her blanket.
"Is Grandma sad too?"
The question caught me off guard.
After everything that had happened, Ella was worried about my mother.
I stroked her hair.
"Maybe."
She thought about that.
"I don't like when people are sad."
I smiled sadly.
"Neither do I."
She wrapped her arms around me.
"You can have my stuffed bunny."
I laughed through my tears.
"That's very generous."
"It always makes me feel better."
I hugged her tightly.
How had I gotten so lucky?
A little girl who had been told she was homeless was offering comfort to everyone else.
Children really were extraordinary.
At ten o'clock, my lawyer called again.
"I have another update."
I braced myself.
"Good or bad?"
"Mostly good."
"I'll take mostly."
He chuckled.
"The buyers are completely out."
"Okay."
"And the title company has officially suspended the entire transaction."
I exhaled.
"So the house is mine."
"It never stopped being yours."
I smiled for the first time that morning.
"That's nice to hear."
"There's something else."
Of course there was.
"There always is."
"The title company wants additional information regarding the power of attorney documents."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"Because they're concerned about how they were presented."
I sat down.
"You really think someone forged my signature."
"I think there are enough irregularities that people are asking questions."
The word irregularities sounded strangely polite.
As though we were discussing accounting errors instead of my family.
"What happens now?"
"There may be an investigation."
I nodded slowly.
"And my parents?"
"Again, that depends on what investigators determine."
I looked at Ella.
She was building a tower out of pillows.
I suddenly felt exhausted.
"I never wanted any of this."
"I know."
"I just wanted my daughter to be safe."
There was a pause.
Then he said quietly,
"That's exactly what you're doing."
After we hung up, I sat there for a long time.
Maybe he was right.
Maybe this wasn't revenge.
Maybe it was protection.
And maybe I'd spent too many years confusing the two.
Just before lunch, another knock came at the door.
I opened it expecting room service.
Instead, I found Samantha.
Alone.
She looked terrible.
Her eyes were puffy.
Her hair was pulled into a messy bun.
She looked like she hadn't slept.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally she said,
"Can I come in?"
I almost said no.
But then I stepped aside.
She walked in awkwardly.
The room suddenly felt too small.
Ella looked up from her coloring book.
"Aunt Sam!"
Samantha forced a smile.
"Hey, peanut."
"Do you want to color?"
For a moment, I thought Samantha might cry.
"Maybe later."
Ella nodded and went back to her picture.
Samantha looked at me.
"I didn't know she was outside."
I said nothing.
"I swear, Sarah."
Still nothing.
"I thought Mom let her in."
I crossed my arms.
"Why are you here?"
She looked down.
"To apologize."
I blinked.
I wasn't expecting that.
She swallowed hard.
"I've been thinking about everything."
Silence.
"And I think… I think we got carried away."
Got carried away.
An interesting way to describe attempting to sell someone's house.
She kept going.
"I needed money."
I waited.
"And Mom said you wouldn't mind."
I almost laughed.
Of course she had.
"She said you had more than enough."
There it was again.
The idea that I had plenty.
That I could afford to lose things.
That I would simply recover.
Samantha looked miserable.
"I didn't ask enough questions."
"No," I agreed. "You didn't."
She nodded.
"I know."
The room fell silent.
Then she whispered,
"I really am sorry."
I studied her.
For once, she didn't look entitled.
She didn't look defensive.
She looked ashamed.
I sat down across from her.
"Why did you need the money?"
She hesitated.
"I lost my apartment."
I blinked.
"What?"
"I couldn't pay the rent."
I stared at her.
"Mom and Dad didn't tell you?"
"No."
She laughed bitterly.
"I guess they didn't want you to know."
I couldn't believe it.
She had been nearly homeless herself.
And somehow, the solution had become taking my house.
I rubbed my forehead.
"Sam…"
"I know."
Tears filled her eyes.
"I know how awful this all sounds."
She looked toward Ella.
"I would never hurt her."
I believed that.
I really did.
Because unlike my mother, Samantha looked horrified by what had happened.
"But you did," I said softly.
She closed her eyes.
"I know."
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Finally she said,
"I think Mom convinced herself she was helping everyone."
I looked at her.
"Did she convince you too?"
She nodded.
"At first."
A tear slid down her cheek.
"But now… I don't know anymore."
I handed her a tissue.
She laughed sadly.
"Thanks."
I shrugged.
Old habits.
We sat there quietly.
Then she looked at me.
"Are you ever coming home?"
I glanced around the hotel room.
"I don't know."
"What do you mean?"
I looked out the window.
"The house is there."
I paused.
"But it doesn't feel like home right now."
That afternoon, Brendan arrived.
When he saw Samantha, he nearly turned around.
She gave him a weak smile.
"Hi."
He nodded cautiously.
"Hi."
Awkward didn't begin to describe the atmosphere.
A few minutes later, Samantha stood.
"I should go."
I walked her to the door.
Before leaving, she turned back.
"I really am sorry."
I nodded.
"I know."
She hesitated.
Then she hugged me.
I froze.
After a second, I hugged her back.
It wasn't forgiveness.
Not yet.
But it was something.
When she left, Brendan looked at me.
"Didn't expect that."
"Neither did I."
He sat down.
"How are you feeling?"
I thought about it.
"Tired."
"That's fair."
I looked at him.
"I don't know what happens next."
"You go home."
I frowned.
"Do I?"
"Yes."
I looked away.
"What if it doesn't feel the same?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"Then you make it feel like yours again."
I considered that.
Maybe he was right.
Maybe home wasn't something that could be stolen.
Maybe it could be damaged.
Maybe it could be hurt.
But maybe it could also heal.
Just like people.
That evening, I packed our suitcases.
Ella bounced excitedly.
"Are we going home tomorrow?"
I smiled.
"Yes."
She cheered.
Then she stopped.
"Will Grandma be there?"
The question made me pause.
"No."
She thought about that.
"Okay."
No sadness.
No excitement.
Just acceptance.
I wondered if children knew more about boundaries than adults did.
After she fell asleep, I stood by the window one last time.
The hotel had become our safe place.
A strange little refuge.
But it was time.
Time to go home.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Dad.
I heard you're going back tomorrow. I'm glad.
A second message appeared.
Please tell Ella I'm sorry.
I stared at the words for a long time.
Then, slowly, I typed back.
You can tell her yourself someday. When she's ready.
I hit send.
A minute later, his reply came.
That's fair.
I put my phone away.
Tomorrow, we'd go home.
But I knew something had changed forever.
The house would still be there.
The furniture.
The photographs.
The little maple tree in the yard.
Everything would look the same.
And yet nothing would be.
May you like
Because sometimes, the hardest part of going home…
is realizing that you're not the same person who left it.
