Roger smiled. It lasted only a second.
Upstairs, he stopped outside the bedroom. The door was open.
Roger looked inside. The bed had been made. A different comforter covered it now.
He did not enter.
There was nothing in that room he needed to inspect.
He continued toward the small office. Most of his files were gone. He had removed them during the first weeks.
One empty shelf remained where the gray accordion folder used to sit.
Roger stared at the space. For years, Kimberly had teased him about keeping paper.
"Everything's digital now."
Roger would answer, "Until you need the original."
He thought about the notarized documents. The HELOC records. His father's land sale.
The original closing statement.
Small decisions made years before anyone knew they would matter.
Roger walked downstairs again. He entered the garage.
His workbench remained against the far wall. Pegboard. Clamps.
Screwdrivers. A cordless drill.
On the bench sat a cabinet hinge.
Roger picked it up. He had removed it from the kitchen months before intending to replace it.
Then Pittsburgh happened.
The hinge had waited.
Roger turned it over in his palm.
He could keep this house. He could replace every hinge. Paint every room.
Buy new furniture. Tear out the bedroom carpet.
He could make the place look completely different.
Financially, it was possible. The settlement framework could be adjusted. His credit was strong.
His income supported it. He could tell himself keeping Ashborne Drive was a victory.
Kimberly would leave.
Roger would stay.
The house would be his.
He pictured that first night. Walking into the living room alone.
Sitting on the gray sectional. Looking at the staircase.
Roger placed the hinge down.
No.
He knew.
The certainty arrived without drama.
He did not want the house. Not because Kimberly had ruined it.
Because Roger no longer wanted his next 10 years organized around proving the previous 11 belonged to him.
He pulled out his phone.
Amanda answered. "You've been there."
"I'm here now."
"And?"
"Sell it."
Amanda was quiet. "You're certain?"
"Yes."
"You could retain it under a revised structure."
"I know."
"You don't need to decide emotionally."
"I'm not."
Roger looked through the garage toward the interior door. "Keeping it would be emotional."
Amanda understood. "All right. Put it into the next proposal."
"I will."