Brandon read the first page twice, his lips moving silently. “Notice to vacate,” he whispered. “Thirty days. Mom, what is this?” Tiffany snatched the papers from his hand, and her face went white as she reached the bottom of the page. The owner’s signature was printed there in clear black ink: Eleanor Holloway, Managing Partner. I sipped my coffee and said nothing.

Then a second envelope slid onto the table, cream colored, with my handwriting across the front. Brandon opened it with trembling fingers. “Dear Brandon,” he read aloud, “you were right. This is what’s best for everyone. Before you decide who gets the downstairs bedroom, you should know exactly who has been paying for the roof over your head.” Tiffany’s knees gave way, and she sank into a chair. Outside, a taxi horn sounded.