Three Years Later
By the time Katie and Mia were old enough for preschool, the company had grown well beyond anything I’d imagined.
We moved to a new city where the girls could go to a school my mother trusted. I opened an office overlooking the river and hired people who believed adaptive technology should help people live more comfortably and independently.
Our work expanded past prosthetic joints — rehabilitation tools, equipment, practical solutions for people adjusting to major physical changes.
One Wednesday afternoon, my secretary knocked on my office door.
“A property document came in for the new center,” she said.
Weeks earlier I’d approved buying a foreclosed estate. My business partner thought the building could be renovated for one of our community projects.
I opened the envelope and looked over the paperwork.
The address seemed vaguely familiar.
Then I saw the names of the former owners.
Mara and Mark.
I stared at the page for several seconds.
Out of every property in the city, my company had unknowingly bought theirs.
I didn’t feel the rush of satisfaction I might have expected.
Instead, strangely, calm.
Three years earlier, I’d walked into an empty house not knowing my whole life had already changed.
This time, I wasn’t the one caught off guard.
