I blink. “Already?”
“A family,” she says. “Thirty-something couple. Three children. A golden retriever, I believe. They moved in this morning.”
Of course they did.
“They’ve kept most of the structure intact,” she adds. “Requested to leave the swing set in the back. Said their kids were already attached to it.”
My throat tightens. Just a little.
“Yes. Okay, Leonie.”
“They’ll be wiring the first and last month’s rent to your escrow account by end of day. Full year lease, as agreed. I’ll forward the breakdown to your office.”
“Thank you.”
She pauses, professional again. “If you’d like, I can send photos of the staging—”
“No.” I press two fingers to my temple. “That won’t be necessary.”
Because I don’t need to see it.
I already know every inch of that house. Lila used to fall asleep on that swing after dinner, curled up like she was part of it.Julian broke his arm trying to backflip off the top bar. And I sanded that damn thing every summer until my knuckles bled because Dad swore anything worth keeping deserved to be cared for properly.
There’s a pause. Then Leonie’s voice snaps back to neutral. “Understood. That’ll be all for now. Have a pleasant afternoon.”
Click.
Just like that, it’s gone.
It’s someone else’s house now. Someone else’s lemon trees.
Someone else’s memories waiting to be made.
Konstantin is paying for everything—the kids’ education, groceries, the bills. This money? It’s a safety net. Something I can tuck away for after the contract ends. A little buffer for when the fairy tale lease is up, and reality comes knocking.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I blink them away.
The house deserves a family. Even if it isn’t ours anymore.
My phone buzzes again, this time with teenage impatience.
“Everyone’s parents are here,” Lila hisses when I answer, voice a dramatic whisper. “Where. Are. You?”
My chest tightens. “Ten minutes out.”
God. It’s so nice to hear her voice.
“Ten minutes is like forever in science fair time,” she snaps, then gasps. “Oh, my God, Mrs. Donahue is here with matching poster boards—do you even care about my future?”
I almost laugh, but it catches in my throat. Under all of her drama is a simple truth: she just wants someone there. Someone who belongs to her.
I want that, too.
“Tell Mrs. Donahue her matching set is trying too hard,” I mutter, shifting gears. “And tell your teacher the Marquez representative is incoming.”
“Better be. I used glitter glue. We’re winning this thing, or I’m becoming a TikTok star.”
She hangs up before I can respond.
