Mom flinched at the word mortgage.

I noticed.

We left with her purse, her car keys, and a cardigan from the hook behind the door.

The night air smelled of damp pine and cut grass.

I waited until we had turned onto a busy road before I asked the question I’d been dreading.

“Mom, what did he mean about the mortgage?”

She pressed her hands together in her lap.

“I don’t know where to begin,” she said.