My attorney, Ms. Halvorsen, stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, the officer close behind her. She set her own folder on the dining table beside the fake lease and opened it. “This document lists Camila Reyes as the signatory,” she said, “at a rent of one dollar per month, witnessed by both of your parents. Forging a signature on a legal instrument is a felony. Filing it, or using it to change utilities and enroll children at an address, compounds it.” Trevor’s easy smile finally cracked. Bethany set down the laundry basket very slowly, as though the floor might give way beneath it.

Mom recovered first, the way she always did. “This is a family matter, officer. There’s no need for any of this. We can work it out among ourselves.” The officer looked at the streak Trevor’s duffel had left on my wall, then at the suitcases, then at me. “Ma’am,” he said to my mother, “is your name on this lease as a witness?” She hesitated. “Yes, but—” “Then you witnessed a document you knew your daughter never signed.” The room went utterly silent. For the first time, my father sat down, hard, on the arm of my sofa, understanding at last exactly what they had put their names to.