I looked at him hard, searching for any trace of the boy I used to know, the one who once hand-carved a little wooden music box for me and painted it red because he said it was the color of love.
“You threw me out first,” I said quietly. “Without prior warning or compassion. You didn’t ask or check whether I really had anywhere to go. You just told me your wife needed more space and sent me packing. So yes, Daniel, I’m going to ask you to pack your things now.”
Behind him, Mary appeared in the hallway wearing one of my old aprons — the blue one with the daisies. She stared at me like I was a cockroach crawling up the wall.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
Daniel turned toward her and waved the will. “It’s not our house. It was never ours. The original will wasn’t the real one. Mom owns the house. We have to leave.”
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