After we hung up, I drove past the house again, keeping my distance, watching the quiet driveway, noticing for the first time how familiar it had always seemed—until it no longer was. Every detail suddenly felt like evidence: the pattern of the snow on the lawn, the angle of the blinds, the faint smell of soap in the air that had been mine.

I parked at a nearby street and made a list on a scrap of paper I found in my glove compartment:

Bank: confirm security locks, set alerts, verify joint accounts cannot be removed without my authorization.

County Clerk: confirm deed cannot be notarized or filed without my presence.