Caleb left the house on Saturday.
He took his clothes, his tools, and the framed photograph from our first Christmas in the greenhouse. He left the kitchen table and the coffee maker and the old ceramic bowl my mother had painted for us. I found his key beside the door.
For a while, I held it in my palm.
Then I put it in the drawer with the spare keys.
The next month moved in small, exhausting steps. Caleb hired his own attorney. We got an independent valuation of the business, and I bought his half with a combination of a bank loan and the proceeds from selling the delivery truck. He signed the transfer in Avery's office. I watched him write his name, then watched the lawyer verify it.
I didn't feel better afterward.
I felt responsible for everything.
That was not the same as feeli
