Three days later, Daniel stood on the sidewalk with Barbara and Tessa, surrounded by diaper boxes and a folded crib, calling my phone for the thirtieth time. A moving truck idled in the driveway, and a young couple in matching jackets stood on my porch holding a set of keys. “Excuse me,” the husband said politely, “you need to move your belongings. We closed on this house this morning.” Daniel’s face went blank.

He pounded on the door anyway. My realtor, Ms. Holloway, stepped outside with a folder. “Mr. Reed, the sale was legal. Your wife was the sole owner, and you were given written notice two weeks ago. It was mailed to this address.” Barbara snatched the page, read it, and swayed. Tessa sat down hard on the curb, clutching her stomach. Then Daniel’s phone finally lit with a message from me.