In the weeks that followed, Sarah kept to herself. I saw her parents visit occasionally. Sometimes her lights were on late at night. Other days, her house stayed dark and quiet.
I checked in once by text, offering food. She thanked me and said she was managing.
Life went on.
Until one cool evening in October, when everything changed.
Tom came rushing through the door, pale and breathless.
“You need to come look at this,” he said urgently.
Outside, a large moving truck was parked in front of Sarah’s house. Alongside it sat a sleek black SUV that looked wildly out of place on our modest street.
Movers carefully carried in high-end furniture, large crates, and beautifully packed boxes. A pristine white crib gleamed under the porch light.
Then Sarah stepped outside.
She looked completely different.
