It sounded entirely sincere.

“We have a guest bedroom,” she said.

“If the bank ever takes the land, you’ll always have a place to stay.”

I started to wonder whether my suspicion was wrong.

Maybe Dad really was just misreading her concern.

Maybe I was seeing malice in what was only ordinary, suffocating family anxiety.

I left the spreadsheet on her desk and walked out of the office.

I headed for the front door.