The next morning, I walked up the path at eight o’clock with my key already in my hand. It slid into the lock but would not turn. I tried again, then noticed the brass was brand new, gleaming against the weathered door. Then I saw the lawn. A real estate sign stood beside my bougainvillea, with a red banner stretched across it: SALE PENDING.
Behind me, a car door shut. Mrs. Delgado, my neighbor of fifteen years, hurried across the street, pale and breathless. “Beatrice, thank God. I’ve been trying to reach you for two days. Gregory signed the papers last month, and the buyers are coming at noon to collect the keys.” My knees went weak. Through the front window, Vanessa lifted her coffee cup and smiled.
