They Came Back To No Home Chapter 04

They Came Back To No Home Chapter 04

At ten in the morning, Otis brought the buyers—a man in his forties, Mr. Fowler, with his wife.

They walked through every room, taking it all in.

“Good layout, great light,” Mr. Fowler nodded. “In this location, at this price—it’s a steal.”

Mrs. Fowler was pleased too, but she paused and asked, “Ms. Walsh, this place looks recently renovated—why the rush to sell?”

Holding Tanya in my arms, I said flatly, “I had just given birth when my husband took his mistress on a trip to Europe.”

The couple froze.

Mrs. Fowler opened her mouth, struggling for words before finally stammering out, “So… you’re taking care of the baby all by yourself?”

I didn’t answer her directly. “The property is in perfect condition. If you want it, we can close today.”

Mr. Fowler looked at me, his eyes filled with pure sympathy.

Mrs. Fowler’s eyes welled up, her voice softening completely. “Ms. Walsh, take care of yourself.”

I kept my face blank.

Signing, fingerprinting, and transferring the deed—the entire process went through smoothly.

That evening, I called a moving company.

“Tomorrow morning at eight, clear out everything. Furniture and appliances—leave nothing behind.”

After hanging up, I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water.

My phone buzzed.

Rylie posted a photo dump on IG.

An Hermes bag, a Cartier watch, two Burberry scarves.

The caption read: [Thanks, Peyton!]

I opened my transaction records.

Every single swipe came off our joint credit card, charged directly to my account.

Hermès: $100,000.

Cartier: $80,000.

Burberry: $50,000.

Below it, Peyton had commented: [You deserve it.]

Cathleen commented as well: [That’s right! Peyton should show his respect. Her parents are just like his own parents!]

I let out a cold laugh.

He swiped my card to buy luxury goods for Rylie and her parents.

The plane tickets to Miami, the specialist appointment for Rylie’s dad, the designer bags he used every month to “honor” his mother—it was all deducted from my account.

For three whole years.

Every bit of his devotion to his family, every generous gesture, every ounce of his dignity—all of it came out of my pocket.

With a few taps on my screen, I shut off the joint credit card entirely.

The next second, another IG post popped up.

Beach, waves, and Rylie wearing a bikini, her whole body clinging to Peyton.

The caption read: [Watching the sea with the one I love.]

Location: Santorini, Greece.

I screenshotted every single one—saved them all as evidence.

On moving day, workers cycled in and out.

The bed, sofa, fridge, and TV were carried out one by one.

I stood in the center of the hollowed-out living room, Tanya sleeping soundly in my arms.

This place I’d paid for in full, whose every renovation I’d personally managed, was now nothing but bare walls.

And that was exactly how it should be.

I pulled out my phone and packed every screenshot, every record, into a file and sent it to Paige.

[Everything is here. I’m filing for divorce.]

[I’m reporting Peyton for taking paternity leave fraudulently to travel abroad.]

[I also want a written statement of disciplinary action from his company.]

Paige replied instantly: [Got it. Leave it to me.]

On day ten, the apartment was empty.

On day fifteen, they returned.

Peyton stood at the front door holding two suitcases. He jammed his key into the lock and twisted it back and forth for ages.

Cathleen stood behind him, carrying a stack of shopping bags brought back from Europe.

The door opened.

The living room was completely bare.

No sofa, no TV, even the curtains had been stripped clean.

Cathleen screamed, “Where is everything? Where’s our stuff?”

Peyton froze at the doorway, as if struck over the head with a club.

“Melody? Melody!”

No response.

He dropped the suitcases and rushed inside, shoving open door after door.

Empty. All of it.

He yanked out his phone, but before he could dial, an incoming call rang through first.

The moment he answered, his face drained to a sheet of white.

His grip tightened around the phone, his voice cracking.

“What did you just say?”