We went to his office. He closed the door like it was a counseling session.
“I’ve been counseling young brother Terrence,” he said. “He’s concerned about you. Says you’re making some big financial decisions and he’s worried you might not be thinking clearly. At your age, it’s important to have family input.”
At my age. I was sixty-two, not ninety-two. I’d just negotiated a multimillion-dollar business sale by myself.
“Pastor,” I said, careful because church taught me to keep my voice sweet, “with all due respect, I’m perfectly capable of—”
“Of course,” he said, holding up his hands. “But pride comes before the fall, Sister Alyssa. Family is God’s gift. Maybe let Terrence help carry some burdens.”
I left that office with a sick feeling in my stomach. Terry had been to church three times in a year, but somehow he had time to meet with my pastor about my mental state.
That should’ve been my sign.
Instead, I told myself he was just worried. Just being a good son.
And that’s how you lose your footing—one “he means well” at a time. That was the third hinge.
The week before everything exploded was perfect. Too perfect. Looking back, it was the eye of the hurricane.
Monday, I packed my office at Hayes & Associates for the last time. My employees threw a surprise party—cake, champagne, speeches that made me cry. They gave me a plaque: “Alyssa Moore. She built an empire. Now she’s building a legacy.” Twenty-three people showed up.
Terry wasn’t one of them.
“Sorry, Mama,” he texted. “Client emergency. Rain check.”
There was no rain check.
Tuesday, I moved into the beach house. The moving truck arrived at dawn. I watched them carry in thirty-four years of my life: furniture I saved for, art I collected, books I never had time to read. Geneva drove down from Atlanta to help me unpack.
She stood on the deck with sweet tea and said, “Girl, you did it. Your name on the deed. No husband to fight, no business to run, no obligations to nobody.”
“It feels strange,” I admitted. “Like I should be doing something.”
“That’s peace,” Geneva told me. “You’re just not used to it.”
We arranged furniture, hung pictures, turned a house into my home. Before Geneva left, she hugged me tight and said, “Don’t let nobody disturb your peace. And I do mean nobody.”
Wednesday, I logged into Bible study online while I was still settling in. Pastor Williams taught a session on honoring your family. I should’ve logged off, but I listened while he talked about elderly parents being grateful for children who “guide them in their final years.”
Final years. Like sixty-two was a countdown clock.
Thursday, I got added to a Facebook group: “Moore Family Beach House Summer Schedule.”
I opened it and felt my chest go tight. Thirty-seven members. Briana had created a shared calendar through September with two-week blocks assigned like this was a timeshare.
July 1–14: Briana’s family.
