One morning, he packed a single suitcase. The house, once his monument, had become a mausoleum. He walked through each room one last time, turning off the lights in silence, as though afraid to wake the dead version of himself still haunting it.
He sold the property for half its worth and drove until the road signs became unfamiliar. He had no destination in mind, just wanting to put some distance between himself and his past. In a small coastal town, he rented a modest apartment under a different name. The landlord didn’t recognize him, and he was grateful.