Chapter 25 - Bellweather without Daniel
The first year alone in Bellweather was awful.
Not because I missed Daniel every minute.
Because seventeen thousand square feet is ridiculous when one person is sad.
Footsteps echoed.
Dining room unused.
Guest rooms closed.
I considered selling immediately.
Rebecca said:
“Do not make a major property decision solely because you want a symbolic ending.”
Good.
I waited.
Then asked myself a practical question.
Did I want to live there?
Not:
Did I deserve it?
Not:
Did Daniel lose it?
Did I want it?
Mostly no.
Bellweather had been my grandfather’s dream.
Then my mother’s burden.
Then my marital stage.
I liked the library.
The greenhouse.
The back terrace.
I did not need eleven bedrooms.
So eighteen months after the divorce, I listed it.
Daniel heard through the broker network.
He called through counsel first.
Then directly after we relaxed restrictions.
“You’re selling?”
“Yes.”
“I thought the whole point was keeping it.”
I laughed.
“That was your point.”
Silence.
Then he laughed too.
A little.
“What are you buying?”
“A smaller house.”
“How small?”
“Six thousand.”
“That is not small.”
“Personal growth is gradual.”
He laughed again.
That was one of our first normal conversations.
Bellweather sold for $13.1 million.
After costs and property-entity accounting, proceeds stayed within my separate structure.
No victory party.
No burning furniture.
I kept the ugly chandelier?
Absolutely not.
May you like
Buyer wanted it.
Perfect.
