Chapter 9
The moving trucks arrived on a crisp Tuesday morning, exactly four weeks after Evelyn’s initial visit. The house was completely empty now, stripped of furniture, rugs, and wall art. The rooms looked larger, colder, and utterly devoid of the warmth that had once defined them. The pale vinyl siding outside was spotless, the debris from Clara’s outburst completely cleared away, leaving only the steady hum of the air conditioning unit running in the background for the new owners.
Clara stood in the center of the vacant living room, wearing a simple gray sweater, jeans, and her brown heeled boots. Her packed suitcases were lined up by the front door, next to Maya’s identical collection of luggage. They were traveling in opposite directions today—Clara to a temporary furnished rental near the clinic, and Maya to her new downtown apartment.
The movers carried out the last of the plastic storage bins, their heavy boots thudding against the hardwood floor before the front door swung shut, sealing the quiet inside.
Maya walked over from the kitchen area, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her dark trousers. She looked around the empty living room, her expression solemn. "Well, that's it. The house is officially handed over. Evelyn called; the buyers did their final walkthrough this morning without any issues."
Clara nodded slowly, her green eyes sweeping across the bare walls where framed memories used to hang. "Good," she murmured. "It's done then."
"Yeah. It's done." Maya hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She looked like she wanted to say a thousand things, but the weight of the past month held her tongue. Instead, she took a slow breath and reached into her pocket, pulling out a set of keys and placing them gently on the windowsill. "My keys to the place. Though I suppose they belong to someone else now anyway."
Clara looked at the keys resting on the sill. She didn't move to touch them. "Are you going to keep going to counseling?" she asked quietly, the question slipping out before she could stop it.
Maya looked surprised, a flicker of genuine hope crossing her dark eyes. "Yes. Every Tuesday. The counselor says I need to unpack the underlying compulsion issues if I ever want to have a healthy relationship again—with myself or anyone else."
May you like
"Good," Clara said softly, her voice carrying a fragile, restrained grace. "You needed to do that years ago."
"I know," Maya whispered. "Thank you for not letting me hide from it anymore, Clara. Even if it broke us to do it."
