they moved out. I pulled the sign, brought my mom home, and finally had peace. But when Gloria had a mild stroke days later, Mom insisted we help. We sent soup. A kind letter. Gloria cried—and apologized. She had nowhere to go, so we let her move in temporarily. Turns out,
my home was a rehab facility after all. The divorce went through. Trent moved out of state. My mom and Gloria, somehow, bonded. We planted roses where the “For Sale” sign had stood. Funny how healing sometimes begins with letting go—and ends with something unexpected: grace.