He pressed the phone to his ear.

“Mom?” he said, his voice trembling.

I didn’t wait to hear her scream.

I turned my back on him and walked toward Jennifer’s sedan.

“Let’s go see your new home,” Jennifer said, opening the passenger door for me.

I climbed into the quiet interior of her car.

My hands were shaking slightly, but my chest felt lighter than it had in months.

The drive toward the historic district of Boulder was quiet and peaceful.

The autumn leaves were turning gold and red against the backdrop of the Flatirons.

Jennifer drove up a winding lane lined with old, hand-stacked stone walls.

At the end of the lane stood a two-story estate built from native fieldstone and dark timber.

An iron gate secured the entrance to the property.

Elliot, the real estate representative, was waiting by the front steps.

He held a leather folder under his arm and smiled as we parked on the gravel.

The crunch of the stones under the tires sounded like a clean slate.

I got out of the car and looked up at the beautiful stone house.