A documented ending.
Roger started the engine. His phone connected automatically.
No messages from Kimberly.
No messages from Jason.
For the first time, Roger realized he no longer needed either of them to explain anything.
The records had already said enough.
He pulled into traffic.
At the next red light, an email appeared from Mark Ellison.
Partnership documents finalized.
Roger glanced at it. Then the light turned green.
He put the phone down and drove.
The marriage was over. The house was gone.
The money had been accounted for as far as the process could take it.
For the first time since that Tuesday night, Roger was no longer driving away from something.
He was simply going home.
The only problem was that he had not found that home yet.
Roger found the house four months later.
He had not been looking seriously.
That was why he noticed it.
A Saturday inspection had taken him north of Columbus to Delaware County. The work finished before noon, and instead of returning directly to his apartment, Roger took an older county road south.
He passed cornfields. Small subdivisions.
Stretches of land that reminded him of the property his father had once owned.
Then he saw the sign.
For Sale.
The house sat back from the road behind two mature maple trees. Single-story. Red brick.
Attached garage. Nothing impressive.
Roger slowed the Explorer. Then he turned around.
The realtor, Susan McCarthy, happened to be holding an open house. She recognized Roger immediately.
"Well," she said, "I wasn't expecting to see you."
"Neither was I."
The house had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, 1,860 square feet. Built in 1987.
The kitchen had been updated six years earlier. The hardwood floor in the living room showed minor wear.
The basement was unfinished. The backyard bordered a line of trees.
Roger walked through slowly. Susan knew better than to sell aggressively.
She simply followed.
In the basement, Roger looked at the foundation walls.
Dry.
No significant cracking.
Mechanical systems were accessible. Electrical panel was properly labeled.
The furnace was seven years old.
"Of course you're inspecting it," Susan said.
"I'm looking."
"You've been looking for 15 minutes."
Roger glanced at her. "That's how I look."
Susan laughed.
Roger walked outside. A small wooden deck faced west. Beyond the property line were trees.
No neighboring house looked directly into the yard.
Roger stood there.
He heard wind moving through leaves.
Nothing else.
No traffic.