Evelyn identified transfers into their savings, then payments for Brooke’s credit cards, furniture, and travel. Several expenses had been described in messages to me as urgent work on the house.
The roof repair had never happened.
Neither had the drainage work.
I remembered thanking Brandon for handling both.
“I didn’t understand all of it,” he said.
Brooke’s head turned sharply.
“Don’t start.”
Evelyn stopped moving the papers.
There it was again: an order, followed by the small space where my son could choose whether to obey.
This time, I waited without rescuing him.
Brandon rubbed both hands over his face.
“I knew the roof estimate was only an estimate.”
“How long?”
He looked at the carpet.
“How long, Brandon?”
“Since February.”
February.
I had canceled a trip with my sister that month because he said unexpected repairs had made money tight.
He had carried my suitcase back into the closet for me.
Brooke stepped closer to the bed.
“We were going to put it back.”
“With what?” I asked.
Neither answered.
Evelyn slid the purchase agreement beneath the statement.
“There’s something else we need to discuss.”
Brandon lifted his head so quickly that I knew, before she continued, that he recognized the page beneath her hand.
It was an email he had forwarded to Evelyn that afternoon, after she contacted him about preserving records.
Brooke reached toward it.
Evelyn kept her palm on the paper.
“You’ll receive a copy.”
The email concerned a proposed sale of the house.
For a few seconds, the words meant nothing. I knew what each one meant separately. Together, they refused to settle.
“You were selling?”
“We only asked about it,” Brandon said.
The proposed distribution listed repayment of the mortgage and closing costs, then an equal division between the three of us.
Not the ownership shares in our agreement.
Beside my contribution, someone had written: family gift.
I sat down in my armchair.
Brooke had draped a decorative blanket over it. One corner scratched against my wrist.
“That was my retirement money.”
