Their world and mine had collided on a page of legal print.

I knew the property transfer did not give me the right to barge inside or demand answers.

The occupants had been served through the proper process, and our manager had arranged a final walk-through.

I had asked to be present, but even then I did not quite know why.

Perhaps I wanted confirmation that I could stand in front of them without becoming the wounded man who had spent so many evenings replaying the note on the nursery dresser.

My hand rose toward the doorbell.