She nods and exits the room. I swear I’ve had this same discussion every day with either her or Ashton.

I look at the stack of letters from the gifts he sent, all unopened by me. Taylor read them when I refused and I can only imagine what they say. He has no problem melting my heart—he never has. It’s easy to get swept up in his charms. I don’t know if any of it was real. My heart says yes, but my head says it’s time to let go. The last time I didn’t listen to my head, look where it got me.

Glancing at the clock, I realize I’m going to be late meeting the realtor in Scotch Plains.

“Taylor,” I yell out. “Can you text me the agent’s number who’s handling my father’s house please?”

Grabbing my belongings, I rush out the door.

“Sure thing, good luck.” Taylor calls out as I head to the elevator.

Thankfully, I drove in to work today, so I can head straight there instead of going home first. I haven’t been back to the house since I first was there, but I spoke with an agent as soon as I took the job in California. It’ll help financially to sell it, and I don’t need anything holding me back here. I want no loose ends. It’ll be a clean break.

During the hour drive, I talk to my mother and let her know about the promotion. It’s been weeks since we’ve spoken, but she sounds genuinely happy for me. Which is surprising, but I’m grateful to be leaving on good terms.

Pulling up to the quaint house it looks different. Even though I haven’t been back here, I’ve had some things done to it. The landscapers took care of the overgrown bushes and I had painters do the outside. There are a few minor things I need to have replaced inside, but otherwise it’s going to be an “as-is” sale.

I smile as I see Mary peering out at the driveway. I give her a short wave and the curtain closes.

“Catherine?” she calls out and heads over.

“Hi, Mary.”

“I thought that was you.” Her warm smile shines bright. “I saw the workers here this week.”

Her honest concern for the house and for me is heartwarming. I’m sure if I lived here it would seem as if she’s nosey, but not having the ability to look after the house myself, it comforts me.

“I hope they behaved.”

“Oh, they were very nice to look at.” She winks and giggles a little.

I chuckle, “I’m glad.”

“Yes, they did beautiful work clearing the shrubbery,” Mary notes as she looks at the house. “Hunter would be very happy.”

I smile at the idea that he would be pleased, “I’m glad.”

“I’m sorry, dear, how are you?”

“I’m doing well. I’m moving to California in a few weeks,” I explain and her brow lifts.

“Oh, but you just got here. Why would you move all the way out there?” Mary asks.

We spend the next few minutes talking about the new job and about her grandson who came back from the west coast.

“I’m glad you’re happy, dear,” Mary says and puts her arm on my shoulder.

Happy? I’m excited about the job. I’m ready to take my career to the next level … but happy? In one aspect of my life, yes. In another … no.

Before I can say anything else, the realtor pulls up and hops out of the car. “Catherine Pope?”

Stepping forward, I extend my hand. “Yes, you must be Mindi.”

“Mindi Erickson.” She returns the handshake and nods. “Nice to meet you.”

I explained the urgency of my move and how the house has to be sold quickly. Not having a mortgage or any debt on the house weighs in my favor. She seems very optimistic and already has a few couples she would like to show the house to.

“How about we go inside?” she asks and I bid farewell to Mary.

After a few minutes of going through each room, we make a checklist of things that would make it easier to sell and what can be the new owner’s decisions.

“Do you think it’s doable?”

“Yes, absolutely. How quickly can you have everything removed from the house? I think it’ll show better.”

For a second my breath catches. I didn’t think about what I would do with all that’s left of my father. While we didn’t have any relationship, the last thing I want is to lose any ties I have to him. I don’t know why this never occurred to me but suddenly it’s as if a boulder is sitting on my chest.

“Oh, ummm, I didn’t—” I stop trying to think of how to explain that I never realized I’d need to get rid of everything.

“If you’d rather leave it, we can, but I think if selling quickly is the goal then we should have the house staged. It’s well worth the money. You’d need to have anything from here removed quickly. I can have this listed in a day if you tell me you’re ready.” She explains with a no-nonsense look, waiting for my answer.

“Okay, I just need to make a few calls,” I say looking away.

“I’ll put the sign up now, and then call me when you’re good to go. Here’s the number for the company I’ve worked with. They’re fair and efficient.” Mindi hands me a card and smiles. “I’m going to take a few pictures of the outside.”

I head into the bedroom and look around. There’s not much that’s salvageable, but these are his things. I grab a few shirts and photos, then enter the office. The box that sits under the desk is empty. Taking a few minutes, I pack anything I might want at some point.

Opening the drawer to the desk I see a VHS tape sitting in the back that says: Catherine Grace.

The office has an old television and VCR. Curiosity gets the best of me and I put the video in and press play. I hear his voice for the first time in almost twenty years.

“Catherine, what does Santa say?” my father says from behind the camera.

I smile at the sight of myself at two years old. I have a pink romper on with pigtails.

“Ho, ho, ho.” My mouth forms a tiny ‘O’ as I walk around saying it repeatedly.

“That’s right! And what does Daddy say?”

“No, no, no.” Everyone laughs and then my mother appears in front of the camera. “Hunter, put that down and come out here.”

The camera is placed on something and I see him. He has dark brown eyes that mirror mine and scruff along his cheek that gives him an almost Mediterranean look. My father looks at me like I’m the sun. His eyes beam and glow when he scoops me into his arms and holds me close.

“My beautiful girl …” he trails off and the camera flashes to another scene.

I’m maybe four years old lying on his chest asleep. My father turns the camera toward me and him as he rocks in the recliner.

“Hi, baby girl. Today’s your birthday and you’re sick. Each year since you were born you run a crazy fever and this year is no different. Your Mommy’s sleeping so I got up with you this time. I decided I had some things to say while you’re lying in my arms,” he pauses and presses a kiss to my head and my younger self snuggles deeper.

I sit here and see the man who held me in his arms when I was sick, yet I have no memory other than him walking away. There’s a part of me that finds peace, seeing it firsthand, knowing he loved me, and another part breaks because we missed out on so much.