Page 52 of Small Town Daddy

"Yeah," I mumbled, more to myself than to Marie. The room seemed to close in on me, the weight of everything pressing down hard.

Another knock on the still-open door cut through the tension. My heart skipped a beat, hoping for something—anything—to distract from the turmoil inside me.

"Sorry to drop by unannounced," Vanessa said as she stepped inside, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor. Her professional demeanor had a slight edge of warmth today. "I wouldn't normally do this, but I have a client who's very interested in your property. I felt it was my professional duty to inform you."

My mind spun. This was the last thing I needed right now—another decision, another potential upheaval. My house, my sanctuary in all this chaos. Would I even consider selling? YetVanessa stood there, expectant, and I forced a smile as I pushed aside the storm inside me to focus on her words.

Vanessa didn't waste time. "My client runs a few Airbnbs and is keen on expanding," she said, her voice smooth like the polished floors beneath our feet. She handed me a stack of papers. "The offer's well over market value."

I stared at the proposal, numbers dancing in front of my eyes. Enough to start fresh, maybe somewhere without ghosts of the past lingering at every corner. I had no idea that the house could be worth this.

"Lucy, you okay?" Marie asked, snapping me back to reality.

"Yeah, just . . . processing." I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ease the tension coiling there. My sanctuary, my childhood home. Could I really let it go? Leave Marcus?

"Take your time," Vanessa added.

"Thanks, but . . ." I drew a deep breath, feeling the weight of history settle around me. "I'm not interested in selling."

"Understood," Vanessa replied, slipping a card onto the mantel. I already had one, of course, but I felt as though for Vanessa, the more cards, the better. "If you change your mind—"

"Yeah, I'll call," I assured her, though the words tasted foreign. The idea of leaving felt like tearing out a piece of myself.

After Vanessa left, Marie shook her head, an incredulous grin playing at her lips. "That was quite the offer."

"Maybe, but this house . . . it's more than money." I traced my fingers along the worn banister, memories flooding back. "It's home. And I’m staying in Small Falls. Why sell?"

"You're right," Marie nodded, her voice softening. "Some things are priceless."

"Yeah," I murmured, holding onto that thought as the walls seemed to close in again. This was my place, despite the whispers of what ifs and might-have-beens echoing through its halls.

Marie stood at the door, her bright eyes searching mine. "Are you going to be okay?" she asked gently, her voice a balm on my frayed nerves.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," I forced a smile, though it felt like a brittle mask. Her hug was warm and lingering, grounding me for a moment. Then she was gone, leaving me alone in the echoing silence of the house.

I tidied up, gathering scattered tools and brushes, each step resonating through the empty rooms. The quiet pressed down, heavy and oppressive, like the memories embedded in these walls.

For some reason, I wanted to sleep at Marcus’s place.

I walked back over, opened the front door with the key he’d given me. I moved through the motions of getting ready for bed. Pajamas slipped over my skin, soft and familiar. Climbing into bed, I clutched Mr. Whiskers, my old stuffed animal, seeking comfort in its worn plush.

The room was dim, shadows stretching across the floor. My phone sat on the bedside table, screen dark and silent. I checked it again, hoping—no, craving—a message from Marcus. Each time it remained blank, disappointment settled deeper, a gnawing ache that wouldn’t go away.

"Come on, Marcus," I whispered into the stillness, the words hanging in the air. I wanted to believe Marie’s reassurances, but doubt clawed at me, relentless and unyielding.

Mr. Whiskers offered no answers, just mute understanding. I held him tighter, wishing he could absorb the turmoil churning inside me. The night stretched long and uncertain, filled with unanswered questions.

Just as I was about to turn off the lamp, my phone buzzed. Marcus's name lit up the screen, a beacon in the dark room. My heart leapt, hope flaring bright and fierce. With trembling hands, I opened the message.

"It's over. I love Emily. I'm sorry."

The words blurred, tears welling up fast. A choked sob clawed its way out of my throat. The pain was sharp, cutting through me like a knife. It felt like the ground had vanished beneath me, leaving me suspended in a void.

Hugging Mr. Whiskers tight, I curled into myself. Tears streamed down my face, hot and relentless. Each drop carried away pieces of hope, dreams I dared to imagine now shattered, scattered like glass.

The night wrapped around me, heavy and suffocating. Heartbreak settled deep, an unbearable weight pressing down. I held Mr. Whiskers closer, seeking any semblance of comfort in his worn plush.

"Why?" I whispered into the silence, voice breaking. No answer came, just the echo of my own despair filling the space around me.

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