My mother opened the door before I could knock twice.

Ruth looked at the suitcase, then at the hand resting over my stomach.

“Althia, what happened?”

“Michael asked for a divorce.”

My father appeared behind her in his robe.

“At midnight?”

“At dinner.

In front of everyone.”

Ruth pulled me inside and touched my cheek.

“Why are your hands freezing?”

“I’m pregnant, Mom.”

Her fingers stopped against my face.

Peter gripped the doorframe.

“You’re certain?” Ruth whispered.

“Two months.

Michael knows.”

“And he let you leave alone?”

I tried to answer, but my breath caught.

Ruth wrapped both arms around me while Peter took the suitcase from my hand.

“You should have called us,” he said softly.

“I kept thinking I could fix everything.”

Peter set the suitcase down.

“You were never supposed to fix an entire family by yourself.”

That sentence broke what the bus ride had not.

My knees weakened, and Ruth lowered me onto the hallway bench.

“Breathe with me,” she said.

“You and this baby are safe here.”

“No, we’re not.” I showed them the transfer.

“There’s a second mortgage, and I never signed one.”

Peter pushed his glasses up.

“Call Naomi.”

Naomi Reid had been my closest friend in college before becoming a financial attorney.

She answered on the third ring.

“Althia?

Do you know what time it is?”

“I need you to tell me whether my husband can mortgage our apartment without my signature.”

Her voice sharpened.

“Whose name is on the deed?”

“Both of ours, but I paid the down payment.”

“He needs your consent.

Send me every alert and statement you have.”

I opened my banking application while Ruth placed water beside me.

“There’s another transfer,” I said.

“Two hundred and ten thousand dollars went to something called JLC Holdings.”

Naomi’s keyboard clicked through the phone.

“Those are Jessica’s initials.”

Peter pulled out a chair.

“How much was the mortgage?”

Naomi went quiet.

“Naomi?”

“Three hundred and ten thousand dollars.

It closed six weeks ago.”

“I was in Boston six weeks ago.

My father had surgery.”

“I remember,” Ruth said.

“You stayed here four nights.”

Naomi inhaled slowly.

“The lender’s file says you appeared in person.

It contains a copy of your driver’s license and a notarized signature.”

“I never appeared anywhere.”

My phone buzzed before Naomi could respond.

A message had arrived from an unfamiliar number.

**Aunt Althia, this is Tony.

Please don’t tell Mom I texted.**

A photograph followed.

It showed several sheets of paper on Jessica’s bedroom floor.

My name had been written across every page, again and again.

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