All four of them stared in shock as Patrick’s face lost its color.
“What is this supposed to mean?” he demanded. “Why is the house empty?”
I kept my voice steady while answering, “If anyone plans to step inside they should remove their shoes first.”
Deborah glanced past me and said with suspicion, “Where are the furnishings Patrick said you already bought?”
Melissa leaned sideways trying to see deeper into the house before muttering, “Is this some strange joke?”
Patrick’s patience vanished as he said loudly, “Natalie stop these games and let us inside.”
Instead of moving I pointed toward the envelope and said, “Read it.”
He tore it off the wall and ripped it open impatiently.
The day I finalized the purchase of my new house, the real estate agent placed the keys in my palm with a proud smile as though she were handing me a rare treasure that represented years of determination and success.
The house stood on a quiet hillside outside the city of Denver, Colorado, a striking modern mansion built with pale stone walls, towering glass panels, and dark steel framing that reflected the mountain sunlight, while a long swimming pool stretched behind it like something lifted from the pages of an architecture magazine.
I had paid for every inch of it with the money I earned after selling my technology company, yet I allowed my husband Patrick Sullivan to enjoy the moment because he had spent the entire day smiling beside me for photographs and calling the place “our future.”