She said nothing.
“And you certainly don’t get to use Michael to justify it.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
For a moment, I almost softened.
Then I remembered the cracking sound.
“Karen, you are not to enter my property again without an invitation. Not the yard. Not the stairs. Nowhere.”
She nodded.
“I understand.”
“I hope you do.”
I went inside and locked the door.
That night, I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined the deck collapsing beneath those chairs.
But another thought troubled me.
I’d known the terrace needed repairs for three months.
I’d closed it, posted a warning, and avoided using it.
What I hadn’t done was decide to rebuild.
The contractor explained that much of Michael’s original work would need to be replaced.
I’d thanked him, taken the estimate, and put it in a drawer.
Replacing those boards felt like erasing something Michael had touched.
