When I told Julian, he was quiet for a moment.
“Why the rush?” he asked, though his tone wasn’t accusing—just concerned.
I explained everything. The private investigator. The uninvited visit. The refusal to leave.
“I don’t want to live waiting for them to show up again,” I said. “I’d rather have the money somewhere safe, somewhere they can’t stare at and turn into a weapon.”
Julian exhaled softly. “That’s smart,” he said. “And… it means you can come stay with me sooner than we planned.”
A small spark of relief flickered in my chest.
“You’re okay with that?” I asked. “Me staying at your place while we figure out something permanent?”
“Are you kidding?” he said, and I could hear his smile. “I’ve been hoping you’d move here. This just speeds up our timeline.”
The closing happened fast. Paperwork signed. Keys handed over. My house—my hard-won dream—became someone else’s.
Julian drove out to help me pack. We loaded boxes into a moving truck, and I tried not to look too long at the empty rooms. The walls felt like they were watching me leave.
When the last box was loaded, I stood in the driveway and looked back at the porch, the windows, the garden bed I’d built with my own hands.