The first line bore Dad’s name in shaky black ink.

The second line bore my full legal name, Elena Rosa Moreno, written in a tight, right-slanting script.

I stepped closer to the desk, my knee brushing the corner of the wood.

The loop on the capital E was slightly rounded at the top, exactly the way I had formed my letters since high school.

The double o in Moreno had the small flick at the end that I always used on medical intake forms at the clinic.

“I never signed a mortgage document in this house,” I said.