Page 162 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

Tax implications.

And my Manhattan apartment.

The place that used to feel like proof I’d made it.

Now it feels like a storage unit for a version of myself that doesn’t quite fit anymore.

“I’m considering selling,” I say calmly.

There’s a pause.

“That’s a big move, Clara.”

“I know.”

“Did you tell your parents?”

“No. But I will when it’s done.”

“If you’re sure,” he says.

I snort.

I’ve known Mr. Felding since forever.

He’s a friend of my parents.

“Well, I think we are done here. Until next time,” he says.

After the call ends, I stare at my reflection in the black screen for a long minute.

I think about it—about selling—and I realize it doesn’t feel impulsive.

It feels clean.

Then I pick up my phone and call the family lawyer.

If I’m cutting ties, I’m cutting them clean.

Geoffrey gets nothing more from me.

No dangling strings.

No more barging in on my life.

That is finished and over with.

“Miss Belle, how can I help you?”

Elizabeth Bradley is my family attorney. She is efficient and brilliant, and doesn’t ask too many questions when I tell her what I want.

So, I do. I get the ball rolling. And the conversation is efficient.

Clinical.

Fast.

Perfect.