making an enemy of your family.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I regret mistaking enemies for family.’
I ended the call before he could answer.
Twenty minutes later, Claire called.
‘Nora, you need to come back to my office.’
‘Is something wrong with the sale?’
‘The sale is clean.’
Her pause told me there was something else.
‘While preparing the closing file, I ran a final title and records check. Evan attempted to file a home-equity application three months ago using a copy of your signature on a consent form.’
The kitchen tilted.
‘I never signed anything.’
‘I know. The lender rejected it because the trust structure did not match his paperwork. But Nora, there is more. He and Sienna also submitted a letter claiming you had agreed to transfer the property to them due to cognitive decline.’
Cognitive decline.
Confused.
Fragile.
The words arranged themselves into a pattern I had refused to see.
They had not simply grown ungrateful. They had been preparing to take the house.
I drove to Claire’s office with the music box on the passenger seat. I do not know why I brought it. Maybe I needed a witness from a time before lawyers and forged papers.
Claire showed me copies. My name appeared in a shaky imitation at the bottom of a form I had never seen. There was a statement, supposedly from Sienna, saying she had increasing concern over my memory and financial judgment. Evan had written that assuming control of Bellweather Lane would reduce stress on all parties.
All parties.
I laughed then. Not loudly. Not happily.
Claire watched me over the rim of her glasses.
‘We can report this.’
‘Will it hurt Milo?’
‘It will hurt his parents. That is not the same thing.’
I looked down at the forged signature. Whoever had copied my name had pressed too hard on the N. Robert used to tease that my signature looked like a boat trying to leave harbor. This version looked trapped.
‘Do it,’ I said.
That evening, Sienna came to my house.
She did not knock gently. She struck the door with the side of her fist until the old glass trembled in its frame.
I opened it with the chain still on.
She stood on my porch in a camel coat, hair damp from rain, mascara blurred at the corners. For the first time in years, she looked less curated than cornered.
‘You reported us?’
‘Hello, Sienna.’
‘Do not do that.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Do not act calm while you ruin my life.’
‘You tried to have me declared incompetent so you could take a house that was not yours.’
Her mouth opened, then closed.
Behind her, Evan sat in the car with the engine running. He had not come to the door. Of course he had not.
‘That was Evan’s idea,’ she said.
There it was. A truth offered only because it was useful.
‘And you signed the letter.’
She looked away.
A long silence stretched between us. Rainwater dripped from the porch roof. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked once and stopped.
‘We were drowning,’ she said.
‘Then you should have asked for a rope, not stolen the dock.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘You always make me small.’
The accusation surprised me more than the slap had.
‘I made
