Chapter 13: Selling the Nightmare
Chapter 13: Selling the Nightmare
A week later, the sprawling suburban estate was officially listed on the real estate market.
I hired an premium packing company to box up all of Maya's clothes, her toys, and my personal documents. I didn't want to step foot in that house again. The crystal chandeliers, the imported mahogany dining tables, the state-of-the-art kitchen where my daughter had sat on a freezing floor—it was all permanently tainted. It was a beautiful, multi-million dollar prison where my daughter had suffered in silence while I was oblivious.
I instructed the real estate agent to sell it fully furnished. I didn't want a single chair, rug, or painting that Eleanor had picked out.
"Are you sure, Richard?" my agent asked over the phone, sounding deeply concerned. "You're taking a massive financial loss by selling so quickly and leaving hundreds of thousands of dollars in custom furniture behind."
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"I don't care about the money," I replied, watching Maya laugh at a cartoon on the hotel television, eating a bowl of strawberries. "I care about peace of mind. Sell it to the highest bidder by Friday, or drop the asking price by a million until someone takes it. I want that deed out of my name."
The house sold in three days to a tech executive relocating from Silicon Valley. The chapter of our lives tied to that cold, miserable mansion was officially closed. It was time to find a real home.
