I carried the shoebox to the kitchen table and lifted the lid. Inside were photographs of Grant’s gray truck parked across from my house on days I was at work. Beneath them lay an envelope from a lender called Brightline Capital, addressed to Grant at my address. My hands went cold. Joyce sat beside me. “Read the top page, sweetheart. Odessa has been guarding this house for five weeks.”

The page was a $60,000 loan secured against my house, bearing my signature and a signing date of next Monday. I had never signed it. Before I could speak, headlights swept the kitchen wall. Grant’s truck rolled into my driveway, with Odessa pale and crying in the passenger seat. Grant stepped out holding my spare key, and he smiled at the window.