The garden looked neglected.
The roses had grown wild.
The lawn service had apparently been canceled during Patricia’s financial decline.
The sacred Monroe legacy had started quietly falling apart under her care.
Daniel joined me.
“We can repair it.”
I looked toward the roses.
“The taxes can be handled. We’ll challenge the credit line. The insurance will be reinstated today.”
Then he said something I never forgot.
“It’s yours to save now.”
Yours to save.
I liked that more than yours to own.
Because the house wasn’t just bricks.
It was the treehouse.
The porch.
Walter’s roses.
The place where one decent man had made me feel like I belonged when his own family never did.
The movers had just finished arranging the last belongings when two black SUVs turned onto Habersham Road.
I saw Patricia’s vehicle first.
It slowed.
Almost stopped.
Then suddenly accelerated into the driveway.
