As Daniel began taking notes and Lily played quietly with her teddy bear, George found himself caught in a web of memories. This was the place where Marianne had planted tulips every spring, their colors a triumphant burst against the soft greens of the garden. It was where his daughter had taken her first steps, and later, where she had announced her engagement over a celebratory dinner.

But George also knew that staying would mean living under the shadow of his daughter’s words, words that had turned the place he loved into something foreign and painful. The decision to leave wasn’t just about selling a house; it was about reclaiming his own life, his own agency, before someone else defined it for him.

Daniel’s voice broke through his reverie. “When do you think you’d like to list, Mr. Müller? The market is quite favorable right now.”

“Soon,” George replied, his voice firmer than he felt. “I’d like to get the process started as quickly as possible.”

Lily, having tired of her bear, wandered over to George, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Do you have any stories?” she asked, her voice a gentle balm to his frayed nerves.

George chuckled softly. “I have plenty, young lady. This house is full of them.”