I took my house keys off my key ring—both copies—and set them beside the note and the mail. From my purse, I pulled out a spool of red ribbon I’d bought years ago for Christmas presents. I tied the keys together with a neat bow, the ribbon bright and cheerful against the metal.
A gift of sorts.
Jason appeared in the doorway. “We’re all loaded up, ma’am. Ready when you are.”
“Just one moment.”
I looked around the kitchen one last time—at the empty space where the refrigerator had been, at the bare counters, at the naked windows without curtains. Then I picked up my purse, tucked my folder under my arm, and walked toward the door.
I didn’t look back.
Jason held the door open for me, and I stepped outside into the cool November air. The sky was clear, bright blue, the kind of day that makes you grateful to be alive. I pulled the door closed behind me, hearing the lock click into place.
The sound felt final.
Complete.
“Where to, ma’am?” Jason asked gently.
I gave him the address of my new apartment, then climbed into my car. As I pulled out of the driveway, I glanced in the rearview mirror just once. The house stood there empty and waiting like a theater after the show has ended. The moving truck pulled out behind me, and together we drove away toward something new—toward something mine.
The Metobrook Senior Living Complex sat on a quiet street lined with maple trees. It wasn’t fancy, just a low brick building with neat flower beds and a parking lot that actually had spaces available. I’d visited twice before signing the lease, walking through the halls, peeking into the community room, making sure it felt right.
It did.
The building manager, a woman named Patricia with silver hair and a warm smile, met me in the lobby. She’d been expecting me, had my keys ready and waiting.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Patterson,” she said, handing me a small envelope. “You’re in unit 2B, second floor. The elevator is just down that hall. If you need anything at all, my office is right here.”
“Thank you, Patricia. The movers should be arriving shortly.”
“Perfect. I’ll make sure the service elevator is available for them.”
I rode up to the second floor alone, the elevator humming quietly. When the doors opened, I found myself in a clean hallway with soft beige carpet and wall sconces that cast a gentle light. Unit 2B was the third door on the right.
I slid the key into the lock and turned it, pushing the door open slowly.
The apartment was smaller than what I’d left behind, but it was mine. Completely, entirely mine.
Sunlight poured through the windows in the living room, illuminating honey-colored wood floors. The kitchen was compact but functional, with white cabinets and newer appliances. There was one bedroom, one bathroom, and a little balcony that overlooked the courtyard below.
I walked through it slowly—opening cabinets, testing the faucet, standing on the balcony and breathing in the cool air. It smelled like fresh paint and possibility.
The movers arrived twenty minutes later, and I directed them where to place everything. The television went against the living room wall. The sofa faced it with the end tables on either side. My bed in the bedroom, my dresser against the opposite wall.
