He Erased Me From The Photo I Erased Him From My Life Chapter 18
Two days later, the front desk called to say a delivery from Santa Fe had arrived.
The sender was Owen.
I opened the document envelope. Inside was the reissued property transfer authorization. The notary seal, property ID, and witness signatures were all in place. He had even marked every line where my mother needed to sign with bright yellow tabs.
I reviewed the packet from start to finish.
The entire process had been handled flawlessly.
He really had thought of everything.
But the thought was fleeting. I closed the folder without sending a text or trying to find the number I had long since blocked.
That night, I mailed the documents to my mother.
When they arrived, we had a video call. I read each section to her line by line, watching as she slowly and carefully signed her name beside each yellow tab.
The next day, her caregiver took her to a local notary.
On the screen, I watched the staff check her ID and press the final embossed seal onto the page.
My mother held the papers up to the camera. “So that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
The documents were sent to the real estate agent that same day. By the afternoon, we received an email confirming that the paperwork was approved and the closing could proceed as scheduled.
I stared at the words *all paperwork completed* for a few seconds, then closed the email.
I didn’t feel like crying.
I didn’t even feel particularly relieved.
I only felt that the matter was, at long last, over.
Just then, my phone buzzed.
A text from Naomi: “Are you coming back to the office? The food truck’s about to close.”
I texted back: “Be right there.”
When I got back, she had already set my lunch on my desk.
I peeled back the foil, and a cloud of steam rose—my favorite fish tacos, with an extra container of hot sauce on the side.
“To celebrate getting the paperwork done,” she said, raising her can of Coke.
Smiling, I clinked my can against hers and took a bite. The fish was still hot, the salsa bright and fresh.
Outside the window, the Denver sun spilled across my desk.
In that moment, I thought everything connected to Chicago was finally, completely behind me.
Then Naomi’s phone began vibrating insistently on her desk.
She read the screen, and the smile slowly faded from her face.
“Natalie, someone just tagged the company on LinkedIn.”
She handed me her phone.
The page was open to a public Instagram post. In the photo, Sloane, Lucy, and Owen stood close together.
It was the “family photo” I had taken with my own hands.
Sloane’s caption read:
“Some people can’t stand to see a little girl who lost her father find happiness. Some people run away to Denver out of pure jealousy and force their fiancé to abandon his family.”
At the end of the post, she had tagged my full name and my company.