And the primary bedroom, where she’d rarely been allowed as a child. It seemed smaller now, less intimidating. Just a room where two people had tried to make a marriage work and failed.
Her phone buzzed. Tyler.
Where are you? Stella made pasta but we’re out of garlic.
She looked around the empty house—her future space, apparently—and felt the weight of what she was about to do. In a few minutes, she’d walk three doors down and shatter their fragile equilibrium. She’d tell them she was moving out, removing the buffer that made their arrangement bearable.
But maybe that was exactly what they all needed.
Meg locked the door with shaking hands and walked slowly back to Tyler’s. Through the windows, she could see them in the kitchen—Stella stirring something on the stove while Tyler attempted to clear space on the table. They were laughing about something, comfortable in their chaos.
She stood outside for a moment, key in her hand, knowing that once she walked through that door, everything would change. Again.
Three doors down. It might as well be three hundred miles for what it would mean to them.
Meg took a breath, squared her shoulders, and reached for the door handle. Time to deliver news that would either destroy their progress or force them to finally, truly, connect.
Only one way to find out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Meg walked into controlled chaos. Stella stood at the stove, wielding a wooden spoon like a conductor’s baton while Tyler frantically cleared papers from the table, creating new piles that would undoubtedly cause problems later.
“Finally!” Stella said without turning around. “I saved the pasta from Tyler’s help.”
“I was offering suggestions?—”
“You suggested adding hot sauce to marinara.”
“It needed something!”
“Not hot sauce.” Stella finally turned. “What’s wrong? You look weird.”
Meg set her purse down, accidentally knocking over a stack of contracts. The irony wasn’t lost on her—even her arrival disrupted their space.
“I need to tell you both something.”
Tyler straightened, immediately alert. “What happened?”
“Nothing bad. Just...” Meg took a breath. “I’m moving out.”
The words landed like a stone in still water. Stella’s stirring spoon stopped mid-motion. Tyler’s hands froze on the papers he’d been moving.
“What?” Stella’s voice was small.
“This weekend. To Sam’s house. It’s just three doors down, I’ll still see you every day, we can have dinner together?—“
“Sam’s house?” Tyler interrupted. “Mom’s house? How?”
“That’s the complicated part.” Meg sank onto a barstool. “Margo owns it. Has for years, apparently. She’s been maintaining it, and she wants me to move in.”
“Margo owns...” Tyler sat heavily. “Of course she does. Of course there’s another family secret.”
“I’ll be right down the street,” Meg rushed on. “Nothing really changes except we’ll all have space. You can have your table back, Stella can eat sitting down, we won’t have to play bathroom Tetris every morning?—”
“You’re leaving.” Stella’s voice was flat.
“I’m not leaving. I’m moving three houses away.”
