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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