Chapter 23 - Selling the House
The house went on the market in May.
Nia expected grief.
Instead, she felt relief when the sign appeared in the yard.
Maya cried.
Malik cried when Andre told him.
The children sat together on the back steps eating popsicles.
“This sucks,” Maya announced.
Malik nodded.
“Dad says houses are investments.”
Maya rolled her eyes.
“Your dad says everything is an investment.”
Nia nearly choked on her coffee.
Keisha covered a laugh.
Andre, standing nearby, surprised everyone by laughing too.
“Fair,” he said.
The word mattered.
Months earlier he would have defended himself.
Now he accepted the joke.
The house received an offer within two weeks.
Closing was scheduled for July.
Nia found a townhouse nearby with enough space for Maya and a small guest room.
She did not label it Malik’s room.
But when Malik visited, he immediately asked if he could put a space poster there.
“Yes,” Nia said.
Keisha looked at her.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Andre stood in the doorway.
For a moment, the four adults and children occupied a strange new arrangement nobody had planned.
Not family in the old sense.
Not strangers.
Something unfinished.
Andre helped Maya carry a box.
Nia noticed he did not make himself central.
That too was new.
Later, he asked if he could speak privately.
They stood on the front porch.
“My therapist asked me why I wanted the gym.”
Nia smiled faintly.
“And?”
“I gave her all the good answers.”
“Helping kids?”
“Yep.”
“Building legacy?”
“Yep.”
“Creating jobs?”
“Yep.”
“What did she say?”
“She asked why it had to have my name.”
Nia laughed.
Andre did too.
“And?”
“I got mad.”
“That sounds productive.”
“She said maybe I wanted the building to prove nobody could leave me.”
Nia’s smile faded.
Andre stared across the street.
“If my name was on something permanent, maybe I wasn’t the kid whose father disappeared.”
Nia listened.
“I don’t know if she’s right.”
“You don’t have to.”
He nodded.
“I’m still going to open something someday.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“Not anymore.”
Andre looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because I won’t own the debt.”
The words landed gently.
Not cruelly.
Andre smiled sadly.
“That’s fair.”
He handed her a small envelope.
“What now?”
“The final accounting from Wells Family Ventures.”
Nia opened it.
The company held $2,140 after liabilities.
Andre proposed closing it and crediting the full amount toward marital funds.
“Why?”
“Because most of what was in there came from us.”
Nia looked at him.
“You don’t have to give me all of it.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because I’m trying to stop confusing what I can do with what I should do.”
Nia’s throat tightened.
That was growth.
Real growth.
It did not reverse the filing.
And neither of them pretended it should.
The final divorce mediation was scheduled for August.
The house closing came first.
On closing day, Nia and Andre sat beside each other at a long table.
They signed deed documents.
Payoff statements.
Settlement disclosures.
The proceeds would be held according to their divorce agreement until division.
The closing attorney slid the final page forward.
“Last signature.”
Andre signed.
Then Nia.
The house stopped belonging to them.
Outside, they stood beside their separate cars.
Andre looked at the building one last time.
“I thought selling would feel like failure.”
“Does it?”
“No.”
“What does it feel like?”
“Expensive.”
Nia laughed.
He smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
“I’m glad you found me at Bellmont.”
Nia stared.
“That’s a strange thing to say.”
“I know.”
“You weren’t glad then.”
“I thought you ruined everything.”
“I know.”
Andre looked toward the sky.
“You interrupted something that needed to fail.”
Nia swallowed.
“Maybe.”
He walked toward his car.
Then stopped.
“One question.”
“What?”
“Why were you carrying groceries into a steakhouse?”
Nia blinked.
After nine months, neither had discussed it.
She laughed.
“Danielle was eating there with a friend. I was dropping off Maya’s overnight bag because I’d accidentally left it in my trunk.”
Andre stared.
“So you weren’t even supposed to be there.”
“No.”
He shook his head, laughing in disbelief.
A forgotten overnight bag.
A restaurant aisle.
A $487.63 receipt.
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