“You were staying here temporarily,” Eleanor corrected coldly. “That stay is over.” One of the movers gently but firmly took Gloria by the elbow.
“Ma’am, please don’t interfere with the job. We need you to head outside. I already packed your shoes.”
“Mike, do something! Are you a man or not?” Gloria shouted. Mike’s eyes darted wildly between his unmovable wife and the crew of broad-shouldered men. He made one uncertain move toward Eleanor, clenching his fists as if to look threatening.
“You’ll regret this, I swear, and I’ll—” The crew lead stepped forward without a word, blocking his path completely. He was a head taller than Mike and twice as wide.
“Hands to yourself. Walk to the porch.” Behind Mike, something clicked dry and loud.
The locksmith was already replacing the old lock cylinder. Everything moved fast, clean, and without drama. Clothes, toothbrushes, Tyler’s game console, Gloria’s floral robe—everything flew into boxes and bags.
No one on the crew paid the slightest attention to the shouting. “My Hogwarts!” came a small voice suddenly from the front door. There stood little Maddie.
Mrs. Walters, the neighbor, held her hand tightly. The girl stared at the scene with wide eyes. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”
Eleanor crossed the room quickly and pulled her daughter close. “These men are just taking out the trash. Then we’re going to live peacefully again.” “You selfish, money-loving woman—I loved you!” Mike shouted desperately from the front walk, where he had been efficiently guided along with the bags.
“You loved comfort, Mike,” Eleanor said calmly. “And my well-kept house. But comfort has a price tag, and you were always short.”
Gloria made one last effort to grab the doorframe, muttering curses under her breath. But the movers’ practiced efficiency beat both gravity and stubbornness. Within minutes, the front porch was stacked with bags and boxes…
