“The market’s good right now,” he said. “And honestly, splitting the proceeds three ways would mean a lot for all of us.”

“It would mean a lot for me too,” I said. “But I want to take some time to think about it.”

“Of course. Absolutely. No rush.” The silence afterward suggested he thought there was.

Amber texted instead of calling, exactly as I’d expected. She was thinking of me, she said, hoped we could talk about next steps soon — a heart emoji — followed by a note that she’d been looking at the housing market and it seemed like a good time to sell.

I appreciated the heart emoji, even if it came immediately before the market research. That evening I answered neither of them. Instead I sat in my apartment with a bowl of leftover soup and Gerald’s folder, thinking about the gray colonial, the red door, and the creek that had supposedly swallowed my shoe.

Eventually I got in my car and drove out to the house.