The House That I Built — And How I Took It Back

Aftermath

They were gone by noon.

I watched from the kitchen window as the truck pulled away. Diane’s shocked face pressed against the backseat window like a soap opera villain. Jack didn’t look back.

I sat at my dining table, alone. The vanilla candles still burned. The floors were still gleaming.

For the first time in a long time, I felt peace.

[Insert image of a woman standing confidently in her kitchen alone]

The silence was beautiful.

I made lunch for myself and the kids. We danced in the kitchen. We played in the yard. We curled up on the couch and watched cartoons until bedtime.

And that night, as I tucked them in, I whispered:

“This is our home. And no one is taking it from us again.”