*****
Two days later, the sheriff delivered the eviction order.
I stood near the barn with my arms crossed as Tara packed her things into a dented car. The neighbors were outside too, watching quietly from their porches. No one waved, and no one offered to help.
She slammed the door, muttering curses I couldn’t make out, and drove off without looking back.
A woman screaming while driving a car | Source: Pexels
Silence settled over the yard like a prayer finally answered.
Over the next few months, the insurance company rebuilt everything. The house got a new roof, a new kitchen, and new windows. They even restored the porch swing George had loved so much. I cried the first time I stepped back inside. The whole place smelled like fresh paint and sawdust, like the start of something new.
A few weeks later, a letter arrived in the mail. No return address. Just shaky handwriting on a plain envelope.
Inside, it read:
“I’m sorry. I was angry and stupid. And I lost everything. Please forgive me.”
There was no signature, but I didn’t need one to know who it was from.
A woman writing in a notebook | Source: Pexels
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