Yesterday the “For Sale” sign became real.
After three days of horrendous stomach flu, I genuinely wasn’t even sure I could rally enough to get myself — never mind the house — together. Then came a viewing request with less than 12 hours notice.
So somewhere between the nausea, panic, laundry baskets, surface wipes and pure adrenaline… Number 12 officially went live.
And within hours there was a viewing. Then an offer.
I still don’t think my nervous system has caught up yet.
This house has held nearly 20 years of life. It has seen survival, motherhood, grief, laughter, illness, rebuilding, hiding, healing and becoming. It has been sanctuary and asylum in equal measure.
And somehow, yesterday, another parent walked through the door with his daughter in mind and saw a future here too.
That feels strangely comforting.
And now… we prepare to offer on Hautes Espoires.
The next chapter of Gravethorn.
Everstead.
The Summer House.
The place where the ghosts are finally allowed to rest and life is allowed to grow around them instead.
My best friend said something to me today that absolutely broke me in the best possible way:
“Number 12 has served you well, but Joel and Tils are your home now — not the bricks.”
And I cried, because she’s right.
I think I’ve spent so long conditioning myself not to get too excited. To scan for danger. To prepare for disappointment before anything even happens.
But this time… I want to try and trust the process a little.
Trust whatever strange path the universe seems to be laying in front of us.
Maybe this isn’t really an ending after all.
Maybe it’s simply the first time Gravethorn has opened the curtains and let the light in. 🖤
