Grant slowly stepped back from the gate like the weight of his choices had caught up to him.
The silence between us felt heavier than any argument we had ever had inside that house.
He tried to speak again, but this time there was nothing left to fix or undo.
I told him the house was no longer part of our story together, only mine now.
He nodded once, realizing that apology could not rebuild what neglect had already broken.
As he walked away, I closed the gate without anger, only finality in my hands.
Inside, I continued restoring the home until every corner reflected peace instead of memory.
That night, for the first time, I slept without replaying the past or waiting for conflict.
