The first page was a petition. At the top, in cold legal print, was a request to declare me mentally incompetent and appoint Nathan as my legal guardian. My hands did not shake. They went still in a way that frightened me more than trembling would have. There were pages of claims. That I forgot things. That I wandered at night. That I could no longer manage my finances or my home. Every line was a lie stitched to look like concern.

Then I saw the second document underneath, and my breath left me completely. It was a quitclaim deed for my house, already partly filled in, transferring ownership to Nathan and Melissa. All it needed was a signature they clearly believed they could obtain once a court called me unfit. The locked refrigerator had been hiding the paperwork for stealing my entire life.