The Shahs took possession of the Plano house as scheduled.
I was not there on moving day.
My lease and the occupancy agreement had allowed me to leave earlier.
The last box from my father’s study sat unopened in the apartment.
It contained photographs and a clock that had stopped at eleven seventeen.
I had tried to fix the clock years before.
Dad told me to leave it.
“It tells the right time twice a day,” he joked.
I kept it anyway.
A week after the handover, Priya called.
“We found something you might want.”
It was the wooden garden bench Dad had built.
I had forgotten it beside the shed.
She said it had a little brass plate beneath the seat.
I remembered the plate.
Dad engraved my name on it after I passed my driving test.
I had sat on that bench crying the day I failed the first attempt.
He had brought me lemonade and said the test could wait.
Priya offered to leave it for pickup.
I hired a small mover and paid the fee.
He brought it to the apartment on a bright Saturday morning.
Nora helped me choose a place on the little patio.
The bench looked oversized beside two pots of basil.
I sat on it with Lily sleeping in her stroller.
For the first time since closing, I let myself miss the house without questioning the decision.
That afternoon, Mark’s attorney sent a proposed settlement.
It contained broad language asking me to waive future claims in return for a modest payment.
Benjamin warned me not to sign while the financial picture was incomplete.
When the garden bench arrived, the mover pointed out that one leg was loose.
He offered to tighten it.
I said yes.
Dad would have insisted on doing it himself.
He had hated paying anyone to repair something he could reach with a wrench.
But he had also taught me not to climb ladders while pregnant.
Practical judgment had always competed with his stubbornness.
The mover turned the bench upside down.
Underneath was a pencil mark.
A date.
And my initials.
I remembered helping Dad build it as a teenager.
He let me sand the edges and choose the paint.
I wanted bright blue.
He wanted natural wood.
We compromised on blue cushions that faded in the sun.
I rubbed my thumb across the initials.
Nora watched me.
“Does this make you sad?”
“Yes.”
The bench needed another coat of sealant before the rainy season.
I read the directions on the container twice.
Then I asked the building manager about a suitable place to do the work.
Nora helped me move it onto protective sheeting.
We wore old clothes and worked slowly.
The wood darkened as the finish dried.
I remembered Dad teaching me to follow the grain.
Nora held the brush awkwardly.
“You didn't inherit his woodworking talent,” she said.
“Apparently neither did you.”
We laughed.
When the job was done, the bench looked cared for rather than new.
I liked that better.
Some scratches would remain.
They were part of its history.
We carried it back onto the patio once the finish had cured according to the directions.
That evening, I sat beside it without touching the surface.
Lily slept indoors.
The patio smelled of damp earth and fresh wood.
I felt surprisingly proud of an afternoon spent on maintenance.
“Do you want it somewhere else?”
“No.”
We carried the cushions outside and sat while Lily slept nearby.
I told Nora that I sometimes worried selling the house had erased Dad's work.
She gestured toward the bench.
“Did you erase this?”
“No.”
“Then maybe the house isn't the only thing he built.”
I looked at the small patio.
There was room for two chairs and the bench.
There was also a patch of soil where the building manager allowed containers.
I ordered herbs and simple flowering plants for spring.
I chose the varieties Dad had grown badly and loved anyway.
Two days later, Mark sent another message about his business.
The contrast exhausted me.
One part of my life was being rebuilt with screws and flowerpots.
Another kept trying to pull me back into someone else's accounts.
I sent the message to the proper channel and returned to the patio.
I had promised Nora coffee.
I wanted to keep an ordinary promise for once.
The first time I met June's family, I arrived carrying a dish of baked pasta.
Her kitchen was noisy.
A toddler had spilled water near the refrigerator.
Someone was looking for a missing shoe.
June's husband apologized for the mess.
I almost said that my old house had never looked like this.
Then I realized that was exactly what I liked about it.
Nobody was performing perfection.
We ate at a table crowded with mismatched chairs.
June asked whether I wanted another helping.
I said yes.
After lunch, we sat in the backyard while the children played nearby.
She asked what I missed about my marriage.
I took a long time to answer.
“I miss having someone to tell small things to.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that the new lamp shade leans to the left.”
June laughed.
“Then text me when a lamp does something strange.”
I told her I might take her up on it.
That evening, she sent a photograph of a crooked shelf in her laundry room.
Her message said, This one has been annoying me since April.
I laughed and sent her a picture of my lamp.
The exchange was ridiculous.
It made me feel less alone.
I had thought independence meant needing nobody.
But I was beginning to distinguish between support freely given and control disguised as help.
I could build a life with both privacy and friendship.
The next morning, Lily reached for the crooked lamp's shadow on the wall.
I turned it off before her fingers touched the cord.
Then we played on the floor with blocks until breakfast.
The proposed terms also tried to mix property issues with parenting cooperation.
He objected.
I found myself staring at the number offered.
It was larger than two hundred dollars.
That did not make it fair.
We responded through counsel.
I asked for complete disclosure, clear separation of parenting and money, and workable arrangements for Lily.
Theresa called again that night.
“Can’t you just end this?”
I asked what she meant.
“The lawyers. The investigations. All of it.”
“I can choose my divorce terms,” I said.
“I cannot make other people’s documents disappear.”
She began crying.
I did not insult her.
I also did not promise to rescue Mark.
“Lily will know you when contact is appropriate and respectful,” I said.
“But I won’t discuss the settlement through you.”
She said she understood.
Whether she meant it would become clear later.
When I hung up, I carried a mug of tea to the patio.
The bench creaked beneath me.
For a moment, I could almost hear my father laughing.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: The Financial Examination Revealed a Debt Mark Had Hidden Behind His Wedding Ring
The Two Hundred Dollars Mark Offered Me While Our Newborn Daughter Slept Against My Chest
Part 10 of 16
