Grandma kept the envelope pressed against her coat as we pulled into the county courthouse lot.

For the first time since I had picked her up, she hesitated before opening the door — one moment, a small tightening around her eyes, the last flicker of a mother’s hope that what she was about to confirm might somehow not be true.

Then she opened the door and went in.

Inside, the clerk examined the house deed, then looked at my grandmother with a strange expression before turning to her computer.

Her fingers paused over the keyboard.