They drove to the house in silence. Leo unlocked the door, the click echoing through the empty entryway. There was no furniture, just golden rectangles of afternoon light stretching across the hardwood floors. They sat on the floor in the middle of the living room, leaning against each other. "We're not tenants anymore," Leo whispered.

Closing day was a blur of ink and cramped hands. When the lawyer finally slid a heavy brass key across the desk, it felt lighter than Sarah expected, yet it carried the weight of every weekend they’d spent scouting neighborhoods.

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