The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 406

Mia's POV

The demolition permit had taken a week.

Paperwork. City inspections. Environmental assessments. Asbestos surveys. Lead paint testing. Structural engineering reports. Neighborhood impact statements.

Bureaucrats with clipboards telling me what I already knew—that the house at 847 Elm Street was sound enough to stand for another fifty years if someone wanted it to.

I didn't want it to.

The demolition crew had arrived at dawn. Their trucks lined the street like a funeral procession. Orange and white. Safety cones arranged in careful rows. Yellow caution tape strung between metal barriers.

Now it was 9:47 AM and I stood across the street, watching men in hard hats attach cables to load-bearing walls.

The house looked smaller than I remembered.

White brick. Black shutters. The maple tree in the front yard that my mother had planted when I was three. Its branches reached toward the second-floor windows where my childhood bedroom used to be.

Used to be.

Past tense.

Everything about this place was past tense now.

A man in a yellow vest approached me. Hard hat. Clipboard. The universal uniform of someone about to tell you things you didn't ask to know.

"Mrs. Williams?" He looked between me and my mother, uncertain which of us he was addressing.

"That's me," I said.

"Tom Reilly. Site supervisor." He extended his hand and I shook it. His palm was rough. Calloused. "Just wanted to confirm one more time—you're sure about this?"

"I'm sure."

"It's just that it's a beautiful property. Good bones. Someone could renovate—"

"I don't want it renovated."

He nodded slowly. "Understood. And you've removed all personal items? Photos, documents, anything with sentimental—"

"There's nothing in there I want to keep."

That wasn't entirely true. But it was true enough.

Tom consulted his clipboard. "We'll start with controlled demolition of the interior load-bearing walls. Then we'll bring in the excavator for the exterior. Should take about six hours for complete teardown. Another two days to clear the debris and prepare the lot."

"And then?"

"Then you can start fresh. Build whatever you want." He smiled. "That's the good part, right? Clean slate."

Clean slate.

"Thank you," I said.

The excavator pulled back. Its arm extended upward, reaching for the roof.

The roof collapsed completely. Fell into the second floor. The sound was enormous. Final.

For a moment, everything was obscured by dust. Thick gray clouds that rolled across the street toward us. I could taste it in the back of my throat. Gritty and bitter.

When the dust began to settle, the house was unrecognizable. Just a pile of rubble. Broken brick. Splintered wood. Shattered glass catching the morning light.

"It's gone," I said. My voice sounded far away. Disconnected.

All those years. All that pain. And it just fits in a few dump trucks

I stood alone on the street as the last of the dump trucks pulled away.

The lot looked raw. Exposed. Like a wound that hadn't scabbed over yet.

But it was clean.

And in a week, I could start building something new.

Something better.

A house where people could be happy.

I looked up at the sky. Breathed in. Deep.