By nine that morning, headlights swept across my kitchen wall. Brian’s car skidded into my driveway, snow spraying from the tires. He didn’t bother with the doorbell. He pounded on the door with both fists, and I heard Natalie’s voice behind him, high and shaking. “Mom, please, open up! It’s an emergency!” I set my coffee down and walked slowly to the door, my heart louder than his knocking.

When I opened it, Brian looked like he hadn’t slept. His eyes were swollen. Natalie held a thick envelope against her chest, and behind them stood a man in a dark overcoat I had never seen before. “Mrs. Prescott?” he said. “I’m sorry to come on Christmas, but this concerns the house, and what your son signed three years ago.” Brian’s face went white. Then Natalie whispered, “Mom, he didn’t tell you everything.”