(Post #9) The Moment I Knew It Was Time to Go

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I noticed that many of his questions were identical to what the insurance guy asked, like they were trying to find something I missed. I happened to mention that I took photos that night. He immediately asked if I could send them to him. "Sure," I said. Then he added, "Right now." Oh. Okay. After fumbling to send them on the spot, they moved on to ask about a CCTV camera at the side entrance of the house and where is the footage kept. I had a blank look on my face. I told them I had no idea there was a CCTV camera there, nor did I know about the dome security camera above the entrance door to the house/office. Honestly, right at that moment I felt like I was on trial for a crime I didn’t commit. He wrapped up his questions and then asked me to come outside with him and specifically to the side of the house; the entrance to Cathy’s loft.

The guy pointed at a spot near the corner end of the house. The wooden steps that take you from the main road down to the house level are located in that area; the only other way down to the resort is by two driveways. One goes to the resort parking lot and the other takes you directly to the log cabin. He then said, "What do you see?", clearly expecting me to spot something obvious. But I saw nothing. "There! Look again." And finally, there it was—the infamous CCTV camera. I had a nervous laugh and admitted I’d never noticed it. He seemed to believe me, but I still felt like I'd messed up somehow.

He had no other questions or comments, but I decided to ask the big one: "Am I safe here?" I was supposed to stay another five months! The investigator didn’t sugar-coat it: “This place is remote, with no security.” He didn’t have to say more. That was the moment I knew—I had to get out. They loaded up their van and left their business card with me. I hoped I wouldn't need it.

That same night turned out to be my last at the hotel. Cathy had finally secured a flight and informed me I could check out the next day, as she would be arriving soon. She also suggested that we could stay in the log cabin together—almost as if we were about to become sorority sisters. When I shared this idea with my daughter—the prospect of staying at the resort with Cathy while the whole ordeal continued—we both began questioning my next move. While I felt loyal to Cathy, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had already done my part by holding down the fort.

Cathy called the next morning as we were checking out of the hotel. She seemed light-hearted and happy to be back in the country, but I felt she was completely unaware of the emotional rollercoaster I'd been on. She then nonchalantly asked me to pick her up in an hour as she would be at the harbour airport, coming in from Vancouver (a one hour drive from the resort). She continued by stating that from there we could run some errands, like grocery shop for the cabin and I can even help renew her car insurance. What?! After everything I had just been through? My initial instinct was to agree, and I did—out of habit. But the second I hung up, I thought, What am I doing?

I had a long conversation with my close friends about my dilemma; it took a lot of convincing, but they and my daughter reminded me that I come first, and it was not a good idea to stay and to just leave right there and then. This whole situation was not what I signed up for. My daughter and I checked out of the hotel and went back to the log cabin and retrieved all my things, or at least whatever we could fit in our cars, leaving behind just a few items I could grab sometime down the road. I instantly called the Fire Warden, the insurance adjuster, and the forensic investigator to let them all know I was done and needed to leave; Cathy was coming home. They agreed it was the right move.

How do I tell Cathy? She was waiting for me to pick her up. An hour into our drive, I pulled over to a parking area and sent Cathy an email telling her to make other arrangements—I was out. She instantly replied asking if I could just stay a few days to help her over the insurance hump. I declined. She understood and thanked me again. 

I had no idea where I would go next, and my daughter’s place was too small to stay long. All I knew was that leaving was the right decision. Cathy could handle things now. 

I was free, but with five months of uncertainty ahead, my nomadic life had just taken an unexpected turn.

Cathy's entrance that was no longer accessible. Everything was destroyed in her loft

Next: Post 10 Landing on My Feet Again: Or How I Avoided Becoming Homeless (Thanks, John)





















Location: British Columbia, Canada

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