An hour ago, I would have crumbled.

I’d have begged and cried and demanded to know why.

I’d have pulled out the thick, embossed deed in my purse — the document from the late Aunt Margaret’s estate lawyer proving that this house, secretly, belonged to a trust in my name.

I was seconds from doing exactly that. I wanted to see the smugness wiped off Vanessa’s face. I wanted to watch Daniel choke on his own arrogance.

My hand was already inside my purse, my fingertips on the heavy parchment, when the wind caught a loose page slipping from Daniel’s open briefcase on the porch chair.

It fluttered to the ground and landed face up near my shoe. I glanced down. It wasn’t a divorce document.