Grant’s taxi pulled into the driveway at dawn, and the whole family spilled out, sunburned and laughing, with Brielle holding his arm. Owen and Hazel dragged their suitcases behind them. Grant slid his key into the lock, but it would not turn. He tried again, harder, then pounded the door. “Open it,” he shouted. “I told you to be out!”

The door opened, and I stood there in a calm gray dress, a coffee cup with a chipped handle in my hand. Behind me waited my attorney, Ms. Dalton, holding a thick folder. “Good morning, Grant,” I said. “You should read the first page before you say another word.” He snatched it, and his smile vanished by the second line. Hazel whispered, “Mom, what did you do?” and I realized the real surprise was still inside the folder.