“Address is inside.”
“You heard half a conversation.”
***
The next morning, curiosity beat pride.
The address led to a quiet street on the edge of town, where a white craftsman house sat beneath two huge maple trees. Fresh mulch lined the flower beds. Blue balloons were tied to the mailbox.
Daniel stood in the driveway with several members of our crew.
Then I saw Renee on the porch.
She wore old jeans, work boots, and a faded sweatshirt marked with dried paint. For the first time in months, I really looked at her hands.
The address led to a quiet street on the edge of town.
Tiny cuts crossed her knuckles.
The skin around her fingertips was rough and cracked.
Not from clinic appointments.
From work.
Daniel handed me a thick envelope.
“Open it.”
Inside was a deed.
The names printed across the top were mine and Renee’s.
I stared at the page.
Inside was a deed.
Daniel nodded toward the house. “Your landlord planned to sell your rental. Renee came to me asking for work because she wanted to help buy a house before you were forced out.”
My throat tightened.
“She asked me to teach her construction,” he continued. “She worked afternoons, weekends, every spare hour she could find. Instead of paying her weekly, we rolled her share into the property.”
“The seventy thousand?”
“Her share of the renovation profit.”
“She wanted to help buy a house.”
I looked at Renee.
Her eyes were already wet.
“I thought surprising you with a home would heal everything,” she whispered. “Instead, I almost destroyed the only home that really mattered.”
That’s when I noticed her flat stomach.
“The pregnancy?”
I noticed her flat stomach.
