“Another one,” she muttered to her cat, Gizmo, who was busy judging the world from the window.
She leaned it against the porch.
She wasn’t selling the house because she wanted to. She was selling it because she had to. The property taxes had tripled. The roof needed work. And her life had moved to a studio apartment thirty minutes away, one with no character, no memories, and no Gizmo-sized windowsills. dillion harper open house