“What do you mean?”
“The agreement lists Daniel and Rebecca jointly.”
“That makes sense.”
“Yes. But there’s an addendum.”
I frowned.
“What addendum?”
“You signed it three months later.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“I can send it to you.”
“What does it say?”
Peter took a breath.
“It changes when repayment is due.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“To when?”
“When the property is sold, refinanced…”
He paused.
“Or when you cease using the residence as your primary home.”
For several seconds, the words made no sense.
Then they did.
“When I move out.”
“Yes.”
I stared at the boxes around my little apartment.
The turquoise scarf lay across the back of my chair.
My moving receipt sat on the desk.
I had thought I was simply reclaiming my independence.
But without remembering it, four years earlier, I had signed a piece of paper that made my decision mean something else too.
“When I moved out Friday,” I whispered, “the loan became due.”
Peter was quiet.
“Yes, Maggie.”
My chest tightened.
Not with triumph.
With dread.
Daniel and Rebecca had a mortgage.
School expenses.
Cars.
A life built around the assumption that I would remain inside that house.
