Chapter 6 - The Packing Day Chaos
Thursday afternoon at 3:00 p.m. was a spectacle for the entire neighborhood on Elm Street.
A large, yellow moving truck was parked on the curb. Two off-duty sheriff’s deputies sat in a patrol car parked right in the driveway, ensuring no property destruction took place. Neighbours stood on their lawns, watching in hushed whispers as Carol and Michael frantically threw boxes into the back of the truck.
Carol was sweating profusely, her pink nightgown replaced by a stained cotton dress. She was crying hysterically, throwing clothes wildly into cardboard boxes.
“This is illegal!” Carol screamed at the sky, her voice cracking. “She’s a monster! She’s kicking an old woman out onto the street!”
Mrs. Gable, the elderly neighbor who lived across the street, leaned over her garden fence and called out, “Carol! We all saw you turn off her air conditioning on Tuesday night! The whole street heard you shouting!”
Carol’s face turned bright red. “Mind your own business, you old hag!”
“It is my business!” Mrs. Gable yelled back cheerfully. “Sarah is a saint for putting up with you this long! Good riddance!”
Michael didn't say a word. He kept his head down, carrying heavy wooden drawers out to the truck. His back burned, his hands were blistered, and his soul was completely hollowed out.
At 4:45 p.m., fifteen minutes before the deadline, Daniel arrived in a sleek black sedan. He stepped out, holding a set of new locks and a sign-off sheet.
“Time is up, Mr. Hale,” Daniel announced, looking at his gold pocket watch.
Michael dropped the last box into the back of the truck and slammed the metal door shut. He turned to face Daniel, holding out the old house keys.
“Where is she?” Michael asked softly.
“Sarah is where she belongs—moving forward,” Daniel said, taking the keys. “You are officially forbidden from contacting her directly. All future communication regarding the divorce settlement will go through my office.”
Carol hobbled over, clutching her handbag. “We have nowhere to go! We’re staying at a cheap roadside motel!”
“I suggest you save your remaining funds, Mrs. Hale,” Daniel said dryly. “The rent on motel rooms adds up quickly.”
Without another word, Daniel turned to the locksmith who had arrived behind him. Within ten minutes, every exterior lock on the house was drilled out and replaced with heavy-duty smart locks.
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Michael got into the driver’s seat of the moving truck, looking back one last time at the house through the rearview mirror. The porch flag across the street fluttered softly in the evening breeze.
The front door of his former home clicked shut, sealed tight against him forever.
