George smiled faintly. “Of course,” he said. “Come in.”
The living room smelled faintly of pine cleaner and old books. George had spent the morning tidying — not for appearances, but for dignity. As Daniel set his briefcase down and began to unpack papers, Lily wandered toward the window, tracing her finger along the dusty glass.
“You’ve lived here a long time, haven’t you?” Daniel asked, glancing around.
“Thirty-two years,” George said. “Bought it in ’93. Back then, the mortgage felt like a mountain.”
Daniel chuckled softly. “Now it’s prime land. You’re sitting on gold.”
The words twisted in George’s stomach. Gold. That’s what his daughter saw too — not the home that raised her, just numbers on a market sheet.
While Daniel walked through the rooms, taking notes and measurements, George followed at a distance. He caught Lily staring at the photographs on the mantel — his wife in her wedding dress, the baby in her arms.
“She’s pretty,” Lily said.
“She was,” George corrected gently. “She passed when my daughter was about your age.”
Lily’s brow furrowed, and she nodded with a seriousness far beyond her years. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Something softened in him. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
As Daniel moved to the kitchen, Lily lingered behind. “Are you sad to leave?” she asked.
George hesitated. “I’m not sure yet. Maybe it’s just… time.”
“My dad says sometimes people move so they can start a new story,” she said thoughtfully. “Even if it’s scary.”
Her words caught him off guard. Start a new story. Maybe that’s what this was — not running away, but turning the page.
By afternoon, the appraisal was done. Daniel handed him the preliminary estimate: $905,000.
“Market’s better than you thought,” Daniel said. “If you’re serious, we can list within the week.”
George looked at the paper, then out the window, where Lily was twirling under the jacaranda tree, her laughter echoing through the yard. For the first time in days, he felt a strange lightness.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
That night, he found his daughter’s number still flashing on the phone screen, missed calls piling up. He didn’t answer.
Instead, he sat on the porch with a cup of tea and thought about where he might go next — maybe Oregon, maybe somewhere near the coast. Somewhere quiet.
