At 7:18 p.m., my phone buzzed for the fourth time.
Secure message. Missed call. Another secure message.
I ignored it and looked at the thick folder resting on Jake’s lap.
Power of attorney. Deed transfer. Buyer approval. Payoff letter.
Everything was clean, organized, and too perfect.
“You sold my house,” I said.
Jake tapped the folder. “I rescued you from it. All legal.”
Mom touched my sleeve. “Sarah, maybe you forgot. You were under so much stress before your overseas assignment.”
I almost laughed.
Some families do not rewrite history all at once. They do it sentence by sentence, until the lie has furniture, lighting, and a chair at dinner.