She sat down heavily, the brochure trembling in her hands. Maybe it was nothing, she told herself. Maybe they’d picked it up by chance. But the thought wouldn’t leave her. The silence, the unread messages, the untouched pancakes, and now this. “What are you planning, Lisa?” she whispered. The refrigerator hummed on quietly behind her.
That night, Helen barely slept. She kept the brochure on her bedside table, its cheerful font taunting her each time she rolled over. Every few minutes, she turned it in her hands, hoping for an address, a note, anything that explained what was happening. There was nothing. Only a smiling realtor promising “fresh starts.”