I hung up.
That night, Vanessa sent another text.
You’ll regret this.
I didn’t respond.
Instead, I opened my new laptop, the one I bought at Best Buy for eight hundred dollars, paid in cash, and searched property listings in Westchester County.
I found a small colonial in a decent neighborhood. Three bedrooms. Old but clean. Tarrytown. The asking price was five hundred twenty thousand.
I made an all-cash offer and closed in three weeks.
On June thirtieth, the day before Robert and Vanessa’s eviction, I called him.
“There’s a house at 429 Willow Street in Tarrytown. It’s yours if you want it.”
“What?”
“The house. I bought it. You can live there. Rent-free.”
“Mom, I don’t—how did you—”
“There’s one condition.”
He went quiet.
“Vanessa doesn’t come with you.”
“What? Mom, I can’t. She’s my wife.”
“Then you’re both homeless. Your choice.”
I hung up.
The next morning, I went to the penthouse.
I had been avoiding it, but I couldn’t anymore. It was time to stop hiding.
I walked through the empty rooms, my footsteps echoing on the hardwood. I stood at the window looking down at Central Park and thought about Daniel, about the life he wanted to give me, about the life I had lived instead.
