There are no raised voices in this house.

No guilt trips at the dinner table.

No one downstairs whispering an old woman toward a decision that will hurt her grandchildren.

We had forgotten, all four of us, what a house sounds like when nobody in it is running a scheme.

It turns out it mostly sounds like nothing.

It’s wonderful.

My phone chimes on the glass — a message from my attorney back east, a document attached. Final Liquidation and Estate Restructuring Notice: Prewitt Family Trust. I read it slowly over my coffee, and then I set the phone face down, because I’ve found I don’t need to reread these anymore.

The fallout from that Thanksgiving was total, and it was lawful, which is the only kind of ruin I ever wanted for any of them.