I did not.

I thought, at worst, that there had been some terrible miscommunication, some argument, some panic that had led my parents to make a rash and cruel decision they would come to regret.

I did not yet know about the money.

I did not yet know about the deed.

I drove those three hours believing I was going to collect my grandmother from an unfortunate situation and sort out a family misunderstanding — and I spent the whole drive, I remember, rehearsing calm and reasonable things to say to my parents, because even then, even with their phones off and my grandmother abandoned in a lobby, I was still giving them the benefit of a doubt they had not earned and did not deserve.

That is the last drive I ever took as a person who believed the best of my father.