Daniel had planned everything carefully.
He had even hired movers experienced in court-ordered removals.
Nothing would be thrown onto the lawn carelessly.
Nothing would be damaged.
Nothing would disappear.
Every item belonging to Patricia and Grant would be carefully inventoried.
Photographed.
Wrapped.
Cataloged.
Furniture.
Boxes.
China.
Grant’s golf clubs.
Patricia’s prized antique pieces.
Everything would be protected.
Daniel had been very clear.
“We give them nothing to complain about. When Patricia tells this story—and believe me, she will—she will never be able to say we stole or destroyed anything.”
I stood in the front yard watching the movers work.
I expected to feel victorious.
Instead, I felt sad.
I thought about Walter.
About the roses he had tended.
About the porch where we had sat together.
About how many years I had spent feeling like an unwanted guest in a house that legally belonged to me.
