Patricia’s hands trembled as she pulled out a stack of papers stapled together. At the top, in bold letters, was a notice from the county recorder’s office. “This is impossible,” she whispered. Dennis grabbed his own envelope and tore it open, and the color slowly left his face. “Claire, what is this?” he asked. I took a sip of water and said, “Keep reading. The last page is my favorite.”

Patricia flipped to it, and a small gasp escaped her. Clipped to the final sheet was a photograph of the house we were sitting in, with a handwritten note across it. “This house was never yours,” I said calmly. “Not the deed, not the mortgage, not one brick. And as of this morning, I have a lawyer, a moving truck, and the keys to a very different life.” Dennis stood so fast his chair fell backward.