The air in the foyer shifted. A heavy, suffocating silence descended. Patricia was the first to blink, her confident facade fracturing for a fraction of a second.

I walked past them, wet boots squeaking against the hardwood, and pulled open the heavy oak drawer of the hallway sideboard. I took out the manila folder I’d kept there since my father’s funeral.

Deed. Mortgage release. Property tax records. Every page carried one name in stark black ink.

Melissa Anne Carter.

Not Whitmore. Carter.

“My father bought this house before I even met Eric,” I said, dropping the stack onto the console table. “He left it to me. I let you stay here after your condo flooded.