Chapter 8 - CLEANING HOUSE
The following morning, a professional moving crew hired by my father arrived at the house. But they weren't packing my things—they were clearing out every single piece of furniture, clothing, and memorabilia belonging to Florence and Christopher.
Everything they owned—from Florence’s antique vanity set to Christopher’s tools and wardrobe—was loaded into a massive rental truck to be dumped into a storage unit paid for by their own meager commissary funds, while the court sorted out their remaining liabilities.
As the movers hauled the last of Christopher’s heavy tool chests out the front door, I walked through the empty rooms with a large black trash bag and a roll of fresh cleaning supplies.
I stripped the bed in the master suite where Florence had dumped my clothes. I scrubbed the kitchen counters where I had spent countless exhausted evenings cooking meals for people who despised me. I opened every window in the house, letting the crisp, clean autumn wind sweep through the hallways, blowing away the last lingering ghosts of their toxicity.
My mother arrived around noon carrying a fresh thermos of coffee and a warm apple pie. She walked into the living room, looking around at the sparkling, empty hardwood floors with a wide, proud smile.
“It looks like a completely different house,” my mother marveled, setting the pie down on the counter. “It looks like your house, Sabrina.”
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“It always should have been, Mom,” I smiled, pouring us both a cup of coffee. “I let myself shrink to fit into their tiny, miserable world. I will never make that mistake again.”
“Your father is filing the final deed transfer paperwork with the county clerk this afternoon,” my mother added, taking a sip of coffee. “The estate is legally back in our family line, and your name is being added as primary sole proprietor. Nobody will ever question your right to be here.”
