Her knees struck the carved edge of the dining chair behind her, and she sank into the seat as if every ounce of strength had left her legs at once.

Sarah stood by the sideboard, her fingers wrapped tight around a cold stoneware coffee mug.

She didn’t pour a drop.

“You knew this whole time,” Vanessa said, staring blankly at the blue envelope on the wood.

“You sat right there on the porch and let me go on about bringing an appraiser in to measure the rooms.”

“You told me you wanted the square footage measured,” I said.

“So I let you measure it.”