The next day, I made a few calls. First to a lawyer, then to a real estate agent. I needed to understand the legal status of the house and how it had slipped from our ownership. It was a procedural labyrinth, filled with documents and signatures I had never seen.
« Mr. Thompson, » the lawyer began, « it seems the property was sold as part of a foreclosure process initiated during your absence. »
« Foreclosure? » I repeated, my heart sinking. « But how? »
« It appears that payments were not made for an extended period. Notices were sent to your last known address, » he explained, his tone professional yet sympathetic.
« I never received any notices, » I said, frustration creeping into my voice.
« They were sent to the address on file, » he replied, flipping through the pages of the document.
« That was my ex-wife’s address, » I realized, a cold understanding dawning.
« It’s possible they went unanswered, » the lawyer added gently.
I nodded, the reality of the situation settling in. « What can we do now? »
« There may be a way to contest the foreclosure, but it will require time and resources, » he said cautiously.
Time and resources—two things I was willing to invest if it meant setting things right for Ellen.
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