He told Yoru on a Sunday morning.
Not planned — it arrived naturally, the way the right moments tend to arrive, in the middle of something ordinary. They were at the kitchen table after breakfast, the dishes done, the morning light doing its thing through the window. She was reading. He was at his laptop.
He had the property folder open.
He had been looking at the photos again — the garden, the kitchen, the nine bedrooms, the trees at the back. The estate agent had sent the full documentation and he had been reading it with the focused attention he gave things he had decided.
He turned the laptop around.
Yoru looked up from her book.
Looked at the screen.
At the photos.
At the listing details.
She set the book down.
Picked up the laptop.
Scrolled through the photos slowly — the entrance hall, the kitchen, the garden, the bedrooms. Her expression moved through several things: surprise, then something more careful, then something she wasn't immediately naming.
