I walked down the steps and stood beside him at the end of the driveway, my apron still on. Doris leaned forward in her lawn chair. Wade and Curt went quiet by the curb. Gary’s hands shook so badly that the paper rattled when he unfolded it, and I saw he had not written a word on it himself. It was typed and official, with a gold seal in the bottom corner.

“Read the first line,” he said quietly. “Out loud, so they hear it too.” I took the page. My eyes landed on the top line, and my voice stopped working. It said Certificate of Title, and the owner’s name printed beneath it was not Gary’s. It was mine. Behind us, a truck turned onto our street, hauling an empty trailer, and slowed to a crawl.