The Folder Explained Why The House Was Gone

Rowan called seventeen times before I finally answered from the ship’s deck. He demanded to know why strangers were measuring rooms and why an attorney was telling him he could not move into the house. That was when I learned his real plan. He and Delphine had already told their landlord they were leaving. They had assumed that once I was alone, they could “temporarily” move into my home and eventually convince me to let them stay permanently.

I told Rowan the truth calmly. The house had never been his safety net. Neither had my savings, my time, or my grief. The animals were safe with a licensed rescue run by Winifred’s nephew, and every expense connected to them had already been prepaid. His only remaining responsibility was to figure out his own housing situation without using his widowed mother as the solution.

As Galveston disappeared behind the ship, Rowan finally stopped calling. Over the following months, I received apologies, accusations, and eventually silence. I visited places Everett and I had once dreamed about seeing together. By the time I returned a year later, Rowan had learned to manage his own life. And I had learned something even more important: being needed was never the same thing as being loved.