“You did the right thing,” he said. “They can’t show up after five years and demand you fix their problems.”
“I know,” I said, though my voice sounded thin. “But I don’t trust them. I don’t think they’re going to stop.”
There was a pause, then Julian said carefully, “What do you want to do?”
I looked around my house—the house I loved, the house that had been my proof I could build something on my own—and felt a twist of grief.
“I’ve been talking to a realtor,” I admitted. “About selling eventually to move closer to you. I wasn’t ready yet. But now…”
“Now it might be safer to take away their leverage,” Julian finished gently.
The next morning, I called the realtor.
“Hey, it’s Lara,” I said, voice tight. “Remember we talked about putting my house on the market? I need to sell it as fast as possible.”
She sounded surprised. “Fast as possible?”
“I’ll take a discount,” I said. “Whatever it takes.”
She hesitated, then said, “I actually have a buyer who’s been looking in your area. If you’re serious about a quick sale, he’ll be interested.”
Three days later, she called with an offer. It was lower than I’d hoped, but fair considering the speed. I accepted immediately.