The stained glass came alive again.
Period hardware was repaired.
Floors were matched.
Modern systems were added without destroying the history.
And somewhere in that work, I stopped thinking about Arthur.
When the scaffolding finally disappeared, strangers stopped on the sidewalk to photograph the house.
Then came the offers.
Multiple buyers.
A bidding war.
Finally:
$4.8 million.
Cash.
I accepted.
On closing day, I stood inside the restored foyer holding confirmation that the transaction was complete.
Then the front door opened.
“Evelyn!”
Arthur stood there looking older than I remembered.
Wrinkled clothes.
Disheveled hair.
One duffel bag.
“Tiffany emptied the account,” he cried. “She found someone else.”
Then he dropped to his knees.
“Take me back.”
“No.”
He stared at me.
Then noticed the closing documents.
“What’s that?”
“The house sold.”
His eyes widened.
“For how much?”
