The young woman stepped inside without waiting to be invited. She was Trevor’s daughter from his first marriage, Kayla, the granddaughter he had cut out of our lives years ago after a bitter divorce. He assumed she was gone for good. He was wrong. She lifted the blue folder and the ring of keys so everyone could see them, then turned to me with a soft smile before facing her father again.

“I own this house now,” Kayla said. “Grandma sold it to me seven months ago. Recorded, filed, legal. And there’s a lifetime lease that says she stays here, for one dollar a year, as long as she wants.” Trevor’s mouth opened and closed. Diane’s cookies sat forgotten on the china. The transfer papers on the table suddenly meant nothing, and I finally set down my tea and stood.