When I returned later that day, his family was gathered around the table for lunch. Laughter filled the kitchen — laughter that used to belong to me.

I placed the house sale contract and the deposit receipt in front of Mark.

He looked up, confused. “What’s this?”

“It’s the sale agreement,” I said quietly. “The house isn’t ours anymore.”

He blinked. “You did what?” His voice rose, anger mixing with disbelief. “We just moved in! Are you crazy?”

I met his gaze. “You said this was your family’s home. I simply agreed. I’m not staying in a place where I need permission to close the door.”

He slammed his hand on the table. “My name is on the deed! You can’t just sell it!”

I opened the folder and pointed to my signature beside his. “Actually, I can. And I did.”

The room went silent.