I smiled and said, “Sure, show me where everything goes.”
Kelsey beamed.
“That’s the spirit.”
For the next 2 hours, I helped carry boxes into my own house.
I placed dishes in my kitchen cabinets while Kelsey told me the blue tile was not her favorite, but she could live with it for now.
I carried folded blankets upstairs while her mother discussed turning one of my bedrooms into a meditation room.
Ryan asked if the detached carriage house had separate utilities because it might be perfect for guests or maybe a side hustle.
My father watched me closely and, once, when nobody else was listening, he whispered, “Jenna, don’t make this ugly.”
I almost laughed.
They were dragging furniture across my floors, claiming my rooms, and building a future on my deed, but I was the one who might make it ugly.
Kelsey kept talking.
She said the neighborhood would finally help Ryan network with better people.
She said the kitchen would be amazing for content.
She said, “Maybe I would be inspired to stop hiding in small spaces and small goals.”
I smiled again.
“Maybe.”
Then Ryan went looking for the Wi-Fi router.
He opened the pantry, the laundry cabinet, and finally the drawer beside the kitchen island.
That was where Miranda’s closing folder sat beneath a set of keys and the final walkthrough notes.
I had left it there the night before after meeting the inspector.
Ryan pulled it out, frowned at the law office label, and flipped open the cover.
I saw his shoulders tighten.
I saw him read the first page twice.
I did not stop him.
The house went quiet before anyone understood why.
Ryan was standing beside the kitchen island with the folder open in both hands, his face emptied of that careless confidence he wore like a family inheritance.
