Monday morning, Brittany marched into the kitchen with her phone raised, ready to film my surrender. I set my teacup down and slid a cream envelope across the table instead. “Open it,” I said gently. She laughed, tore it open, and her smile began to slip. The first page was a thirty day notice to vacate, signed by my attorney, Frank Delaney. Douglas read over her shoulder, and the color left his face.

“You can’t do this,” Brittany shrieked. “Douglas inherits this house!” I told her to read the second page. It was the deed, with a single name on it: mine. Then the doorbell rang. Through the glass I saw Mr. Delaney, a real estate agent holding a clipboard, and a photographer aiming a camera at my front lawn. Brittany whispered, “Who are they?”