For twelve years, I’d believed that paying three thousand dollars every four weeks was all that kept my family from total ruin.

Now the house was up on a public real estate website, marked down to a fire-sale price so my brother could clear a debt he’d helped run up.

I didn’t bother printing the document.

I didn’t save the legal notice to my personal drive.

I selected Sarah’s email, moved it straight to the trash, and clicked the button to permanently empty the deleted items folder.

At four o’clock I wrapped up my last cybersecurity review of the day and stepped out through the French doors onto the iron balcony.