Ethan picked up his bag and walked to the door. He paused. ‘I’ll send the payment schedule. You’re my tenants now.’ He stepped out into the summer night. The porch light flickered, and the flag tapped a slow rhythm against the bracket. The street was quiet, lined with sleeping cars and the hum of cicadas. He sat in his old truck, the blood drying on his lip, and for the first time, he didn’t feel guilt or rage. He felt a vast, clean emptiness where the fear used to live. The weight of decades had been lifted by a single sheet of paper.