I know I’ll be the talk of the town for a while. I know they’ll call me vindictive. Maybe I am. But for the first time in nearly four decades, I don’t feel like a ghost in my own house of worship. I didn’t get my money back, and I know I never will. The church is broke, and I’m just an old woman with a folder of ghosts.

But the fellowship hall isn’t going to be condos. And for now, that’s enough. I’m sitting on my porch, watching the tide come in, and for the first time in a long time, I can actually breathe. The air smells like salt and wet pine. It’s a clean smell. It doesn’t smell like floor wax at all.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll go for a walk. Maybe I’ll find a new church, or maybe I’ll just stay here and watch the waves. I don’t need the committee to know who I am. I don’t need the recognition. I just need to be done.

I still have the receipts. I think I’ll keep them for a while longer. Not to hold over anyone, but to remind myself that I was here. I did something that mattered, even if I was the only one who knew it at the time. That’s enough. It has to be.