Then I heard another voice in the background.
A woman.
“Brenda?”
My daughter covered the phone, but not quickly enough.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
There was a brief silence.
“Some real-estate woman.”
So Ellen had arrived.
My stomach fluttered.
Not triumph.
Not satisfaction.
Something closer to fear.
A decision had become real.
“Her name is Ellen Parker,” I said.
“You sent a realtor?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To look at the house.”
“For what?”
“You know what realtors do, Brenda.”
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear gulls through her phone.
“Are you selling?”
“I’m considering it.”
“What?”
“I’m considering selling my property.”
“Because of this morning?”
“Because I’ve realized I need to reconsider several things.”
“Mom, this is ridiculous.”
That word hardened something in me.
Not into anger.
Into clarity.
“Please don’t call my decision ridiculous.”
“I mean—come on. We had a misunderstanding.”
