Workers in orange vests were already busy on the scaffolding.

I parked near the trailer and stepped out onto the gravel.

The sound of hammers and saws was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.

It was the sound of my life starting over.

I walked up the concrete steps to the unfinished lobby.

Marcus met me at the door holding a yellow hard hat.

“Congratulations, Vivian,” he said.

“We’re ready for your inspection.”

“Let’s look at the west wing first,” I said.

We walked down the long corridor, where the drywall was already being taped.

I touched the rough surface of the wall.

This would be the place where elderly women could find peace.

It would be safe, beautiful, and honest.

Everything Grant was not.

I walked out onto the second-floor balcony and looked down at the harbor.

The yachts were bobbing in their slips.

The water was a deep, brilliant blue.

Within a year, the first residents would be arriving right here.

They would walk through the gates under my mother’s name.

And Grant would be far away, facing the consequences of what he had signed.