When I hit send, my hands shook, but my breathing felt deeper. Like I’d cut the last string tying me to a weight I’d carried for years.
Two days later, Julian and I got the call: our offer was accepted.
We hugged in the kitchen, laughing, and for a moment I forgot entirely about my parents, my sister, the debt, the bats, the broken windows.
I remembered what it felt like to build something with someone who wasn’t trying to take from me.
Part 7
Moving into our new house felt different than moving into my craftsman had. That first house had been my victory over scarcity, my proof that I could escape. This house was something softer: a beginning, not a defiant ending.
We painted the spare room into a shared office space. We argued over where to put the couch. We bought a ridiculous amount of plants because Julian believed we could “redeem your herb record,” and I told him that was optimistic bordering on delusional, which made him laugh.
And slowly, without me noticing exactly when, my nervous system unclenched.
I stopped flinching at unknown numbers. I stopped scanning every room for emotional landmines. I stopped expecting love to come with an invoice.