I had lived in the house for eighteen years; it was the only home that Todd knew of and the only one that my daughters remembered. I had watched it being built, the Ex had installed a lovely pond that attracted many newts who I loved watching as they played around in the water - we both thought that we had a home for life together until we decided to get divorced. The divorce allowed me to stay on in the house and pay off the mortgage until 2011, when I had to either buy my Ex's share of the house - or move out.
I had to move.
And so the plaster came off my foot and I had to sell the house. The Ex advertised the house online and I soon started receiving calls. This was not a smart move as I was still hobbling around badly and each visit involved a trip down to the cellar, back up, then upstairs and then again to Tatiana's room in the attic and back down again, only to greet the next visitors. Some people just seemed to like looking at the house, asked no questions and needed a life. Others slagged the house off saying it was over-priced, needed a new this, that and the other before mentioning that they were, in fact, estate agents. Nobody seemed to understand that they were talking about my home.
One evening, a couple came around with their young daughter and put in a higher offer than the first one received, the following day.
I told the Ex to accept it.
They were anxious to move in before July and so the pressure was on me to pack up and move out. Todd helped me move the heavy things and soon my living room had a wall of boxes that Coralie helped me pack, contained two double beds that had been taken apart and anything else that I needed on a daily basis - such as my TV which, like my laptop and Hermie only got packed away on the day I moved. I left most of my furniture behind and Richard was organising to come over with a van to pick up my few belongings, Hermie and I up. I booked the ferry, Richard arranged for my stuff to go into storage while I organised extra muscle in Belgium to help pack the van.
Only things never are that simple, are they?