That night, he sat at the dining table, surrounded by the quiet ghosts of his family — the wedding photo of him and Marianne, the crayon drawings his granddaughter had left on the fridge. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to think of leaving, really leaving. Not as a man pushed out, but as one who chose to go.

When the doorbell rang the next morning, George straightened his back and went to answer.
Outside stood a little girl, maybe eight years old, clutching a worn teddy bear. Beside her, a man in a wrinkled gray coat gave a polite nod.
“Mr. Müller?” the man said. “I’m Daniel Hayes, from Silver Oak Realty. And this is my daughter, Lily. I hope it’s all right she’s with me today.”

George smiled faintly. “Of course,” he said. “Come in.”The living room smelled faintly of pine cleaner and old books. George had spent the morning tidying — not for appearances, but for dignity. As Daniel set his briefcase down and began to unpack papers, Lily wandered toward the window, tracing her finger along the dusty glass.