Chapter 21 - The House on West Glen
Six months after Nora’s birth, the house appeared online again.
West Glen.
The exact neighborhood Nick had once dreamed of buying with imaginary crypto profits.
Three bedrooms.
A fenced yard.
White kitchen.
Maple tree out front.
Nick stared at the listing on my phone.
“That’s ironic.”
“You still want it?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
I was surprised.
“You talked about West Glen for two years.”
“I wanted what it represented.”
“What did it represent?”
He thought for a moment.
“Proof.”
“Of?”
“That I had made it.”
I looked around our rental.
Nora’s toys covered half the living room.
A drying rack stood beside the heater.
The dining table had a permanent stack of baby wipes.
It was not glamorous.
It was ours.
“Do you like this house?” I asked.
Nick smiled.
“Yeah.”
“So do I.”
The next day, however, our landlord called.
He planned to sell.
We had ninety days after the lease ended.
Suddenly the question became real.
We needed housing.
Arthur immediately offered money for a down payment.
“No,” Nick said.
His father frowned.
“You’ll pay me back.”
“No.”
I watched him.
“Why not?”
“Because we aren’t ready.”
That was new.
Old Nick would have grabbed the opportunity and worried about affordability later.
Nick opened our budget.
“We have emergency savings again. We’re paying debt down. But if we buy right now, one major repair puts us back into panic.”
Arthur stared at him.
Then smiled.
“Who are you?”
Nick rolled his eyes.
Instead, we rented a smaller house fifteen minutes from the hospital.
It was cheaper.
Older.
The bathroom tile was ugly.
The backyard was enormous.
On moving day, Claire appeared carrying the sage-green maternity dress.
I laughed.
“What are you doing with that?”
“You loaned it to me for my sister.”
“Right.”
Claire handed it over.
“Figured it belongs home.”
I held the fabric against me.
That dress had become ridiculous in its importance.
It represented the moment my life had cracked open.
But also the moment strangers had reminded me I was not alone.
“I think I’m done with it,” I said.
Claire frowned.
“What do you mean?”
I turned toward Tara.
She was holding Samuel.
“You want it?”
Her eyes widened.
“For what?”
“For someday.”
She looked down.
“Anna, after everything—”
“It’s cloth.”
“No. It isn’t.”
She understood.
That mattered.
“Then take care of it.”
Tara hugged me.
Nick watched from across the room.
Later, after everyone left, we sat on the floor eating pizza from boxes.
Nora crawled between us.
The house smelled like cardboard and paint.
“We downgraded,” Nick joked.
I looked at him.
“Did we?”
He smiled.
“No.”
A week later, we created a new savings account.
HOUSE FUND.
No secret passwords.
No fantasy deadline.
No magical returns.
Automatic transfers every payday.
One hundred dollars from Nick.
One hundred fifty from me.
Boring.
Slow.
Beautiful.
“West Glen?” Nick asked.
“Maybe.”
“When?”
“When we can afford it.”
He lifted his water glass.
“To boring.”
I tapped mine against his.
“To boring.”
Nora slapped both hands on the table and squealed.
We laughed.
And I realized we were doing something we had never truly done before.
May you like
Building.
Not performing.
