Mom was last. She paused on the threshold, turned toward me, her eyes glassy with something between hate and disbelief. «I hope you’re proud,» she said. I wasn’t. I was tired. She walked past me without another word. The deputies closed the door behind her, simple and final.
The silence that followed felt unnatural, too thick. One deputy handed me the keys. «Ma’am,» he said, «it’s yours now.» Three words, heavier than I expected. I thanked him, my voice cracking halfway through.
When their cars finally pulled away, I stood there alone in the drizzle, staring at the house that had been both a battlefield and a cage. I went inside. The air smelled like dust and perfume, sweet rot. A glass of wine sat abandoned on the counter. A jacket hung over a chair. It looked less like people had lived there and more like they’d vanished mid-scene.
I opened windows, one by one, letting the rainy air drift through. For a second, I thought I heard Dad’s voice in the quiet. «You did what you had to.» I wanted to believe him.
That evening, I picked up Hannah from school. She climbed into the car and smiled when she saw the boxes in the backseat. «Are we moving again?» she asked.
«Home,» I said. The word felt strange in my mouth, like something I hadn’t used in years.
When we walked through the door, the house echoed. She ran from room to room, touching everything, like claiming territory. «This is ours again,» she said.
«Yeah,» I whispered. «It always was.»
It’s been six months since the eviction. Hannah and I haven’t spoken to any of them. No calls, no texts, no surprises. I blocked every number. Peace looks good on a screen. I still get updates, though. Small-town gossip doesn’t need permission. Jonathan hears things through the legal grapevine, and a nurse I know from the old hospital still lives near Brittany.
Apparently, Mom moved in with Brittany and Ryan right after she lost the house. It lasted about a month before things exploded. Mom started reorganizing their house: new curtains, new furniture, new rules. Ryan didn’t take it well. They had a huge fight, and she locked him out. Cops got called again. He moved out a week later.
Now Mom and Brittany live together, which everyone says is going great if you define «great» as two people passive-aggressively competing for oxygen. Their latest argument made it onto Facebook Marketplace comments. Someone screenshotted it and sent it to me. Mom was selling Brittany’s old dining set. Brittany replied, «You don’t even live here.» Beautiful symmetry.
As for us, we’re good. Hannah’s been helping me in the garden. She says everything grows faster when you stop shouting at it. The house is quiet. No new locks, no new storms, and best of all, no one has tried to move in.
