Chapter 1
The gravel beneath my feet crunches softly as I walk up the wide path to my new acquisition.
I stare up at the ivy-covered columns lining the front porch of the large house before me.
Then my gaze goes up further to the dirty, glass-paned windows, further still to the widow’s walk along the rooftop.
The house is in disrepair, and there’s a ton of work to do, but the Gothic revival-style house is my pride and joy.
Even with all the work to be done, I’m determined to make the best of it, to make the repairs, and turn this house into my home.
After a year of back and forth, a year of meetings and hearings, of mental and emotional stress, my divorce is final.
The judge signed the papers finalizing it this morning, and I closed on the house this afternoon.
It’s mine. All mine. Knowing my ex can’t get his hands on any part of it, that he has no rights to it at all, is a huge relief.
I walked out of that hellscape of a marriage with a financial settlement that allowed me to make this purchase and set my finances up nicely for a long time.
Funny how being an emotionally abusive asshole can work against you. My ex found out the hard way, and knowing he had his ass handed to him in the divorce pleases me to no end.
I can, at long last, put all that behind me now and move on with my life.
Signing my name on that stack of papers today felt amazing.
Sadie Smith no longer exists and probably should never have existed at all.
I am, once again, Sadie Ashworth. Returning to my maiden name was a no-brainer.
A smile spreads across my face as I think about it, about seeing my name scrawled across page after page of settlement documents.
They say money can’t buy happiness. I’m here to tell you it can, because the proof of my happiness stands before me, waiting for me to walk inside and claim it as my own.
I climb the stairs to the front door and shift the load of cleaning supplies I’m carrying to dig the keys from my pocket.
The large silver house key has an intricate design - a triquatra - unique and elegant.
It slides surprisingly easily into the keyhole, and when I turn it, the door unlocks with a quiet click.
I take a deep breath and push the heavy oak door open.
Then I just stand there and relish the moment, breathing in the quiet and letting it wash over me.
Maybe home ownership isn’t such a big deal to some people, but to me, after all I went through in my marriage, it’s everything.
It’s my life. It’s my shelter. It’s my peace. It’s my freedom.
My eyes tear up as I step over the threshold and into the wide, empty foyer.
When I do, something strange happens. A shiver races down my spine, and a feeling of newfound power courses through me.
Bold. Electric. It's as if I’m finally where I’m meant to be, where I should have been a long time ago.
At the same time, the sense of relief I feel is overwhelming, my happiness palpable, and my relief a balm to nerves that have been stretched too thinly for far too long.
The surge of power combined with the mixture of feelings and emotions is almost too much, and I feel my knees slightly buckle under the weight before I take a deep, steadying breath and recenter myself.
The moving truck is due any moment, and I’m anxious to get my things unloaded.
I go to the kitchen and deposit my box on the counter, then I decide to do a quick walk through the large empty rooms before I gather the rest of my things from my car.
I wander from room to room, picturing where I want to put everything, and trying to decide on future purchases.
The wide staircase was one of the selling points for me, and I trail my hand along the dark wood as I climb.
The plush, creamy-colored carpet doesn’t make a sound as my feet meet each step.
The hand-carved banister and fancy scrollwork make me feel as if I’ve stepped back in time.
I can almost picture debutantes as they descend the stairs in their big hoop skirts, their beaus waiting at the landing - cravats tied perfectly - hopeful to escort their love interest on a promenade or to a ball.
For a moment, just a moment, I think I hear the deep laugh of the men, the bright, happy voices of the young women.
As the imagined laughs fade, another chill runs down my spine.
I shake my head and chuckle at myself for getting spooked so easily.
The bedroom I’ve chosen is upstairs, and I step into the empty room and slowly spin in a circle.
The spacious room has a fantastic view of the dense woods that surround the house.
Remote. Private - another major selling point for me.
Everything I want and need as a writer. Secluding myself for days at a time to work on my stories is standard and often necessary.
My ex never understood that - just one of the many bones of contention between us.
I’m lost in thought, gazing out the bedroom window, when I see the moving truck slowly traversing the deep ruts in the long lane up to the house. I make a mental note to add that repair to my growing list, and then make my way downstairs to let the movers inside.
As they begin unloading my furniture, I grab the remaining items from my car. After several trips and directing the movers where to place things, I grab my dirty clothes and the new set of sheets I bought then head to the basement to start a load of laundry.
With the washer filling with water, I return to the kitchen and give the refrigerator a thorough cleaning.
Once that is done, I fill it with the cold items I brought with me, then I begin wiping down the counters and cabinets.
Getting the kitchen cleaned and organized is the first item on my list. After that, I’ll begin getting my bedroom set up.
With any luck, I’ll get a good night’s sleep and then be able to really start working on the house in the morning.
It’s comforting to hear the movers as they bring my belongings inside, but I’m ready to have my home to myself. I’m ready for the peace. I’m ready for the quiet. I’m ready to breathe, and I’m ready to see what life has in store for me next.
As I work, I hum happily. At long last, my outlook on life has shifted, and I’m determined to do everything in my power to make my life what I want it to be.
New home. New furniture. New outlook. New lease on life.
After a long and exciting day, I decide that a steamy shower might relax me and help me fall asleep more easily. I bundle my long, dark hair on top of my head and step under the spray. As the tension begins to melt from my body, I sigh and smile.
Homeownership feels good. The shower feels amazing. But nothing compares to the feeling of freedom and independence that has floated through me all day.
As I lather my body, another chill runs down my spine.
Suddenly, I feel as if I’m being watched, like eyes are roaming my curves.
I freeze, my ears perking up as I listen for anything that might indicate I’m not alone, but I hear nothing.
I tell myself I’m being silly and roll my eyes, shaking my head at my mild panic.
By the time I’ve finished my shower and found a sleep shirt, exhaustion has hit me.
I pull back my freshly washed bedclothes and crawl beneath the covers.
Then I do what I do every night - I pick up my latest book and let myself get lost for a few minutes in a fantasy world where anything can happen.
It doesn’t take long before my eventful day catches up with me, and my eyelids begin to droop. I fall asleep with my small reading lamp on, and my book openly splayed across my chest. As sleep claims me, so do dreams, and my body begins to drift, floating in a sea of possibilities.