Inside the envelope was a copy of the deed, a divorce petition, and a letter from my attorney, Ms. Hale. It also held printed messages from the family tablet that Brian never thought to lock. For weeks, he and Sandra had planned to pressure me into adding Brooke’s name to the deed “after the baby comes,” so that she could never be removed. I had found them the night before the argument and sent copies to my lawyer.

Brooke read the messages over Brian’s shoulder, and the color left her face. She had been told I welcomed her gladly and that the guest suite was her own idea. She turned on her brother and said she would never have come if she had known. Sandra insisted it was only family helping family. Then I told them, over the speaker, that family does not move into a house by trick.

The sale money sat in a trust in my name, and Brian’s prenuptial agreement left him nothing from it. Ms. Hale’s letter also gave the three of them until Friday to remove their belongings from the garage, where I had stored his things, and it asked Brian not to contact me except through her. Sandra shouted that I would regret it. I answered, kindly, that I already felt lighter than I had in years.

Brooke called me a week later and apologized with tears in her voice. Sandra found her a small apartment near a clinic, and Brian moved in with a friend. I landed in Dublin, rented a flat by the river, and took a consulting job within a month. A year later, Brooke sent me a photograph of her baby girl. I wrote back with a gift, and I signed it with love.