The lake was visible beyond the trees, bright and calm beneath the September sky. The porch swing moved slightly in the breeze. A pair of Adirondack chairs sat near the water, exactly where George and I had placed them years ago.
But something was different.
There was a small wooden sign beside the driveway.
WELCOME HOME, DAVID AND NOOR
Megan stepped closer.
“Patrick?”
He pulled the key from the lock and stared at it.
A white envelope had been tucked beneath the brass handle.
His name was written across the front.
Not *Mr. Henderson.*
Not *The Henderson Family.*
Just:
Patrick.
He opened it with unsteady fingers.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
> Patrick,
> The house has been sold. The new owners took possession yesterday. Your belongings have been boxed and placed in a storage unit under your name. The realtor has the information.
> Please don’t come to the house again without contacting them first.
> —Mom
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Megan took the paper from him.
“She sold it?”
Patrick’s eyes remained fixed on the front door.
“She couldn’t have.”
“She did.”
“No.” He shook his head, but the denial sounded weak even to him. “She wouldn’t do that without telling me.”
Megan looked toward the lake.
The house had always been spoken of as if it were already theirs. Not officially, not in any document either of them had seen, but in the casual language of family.
*When we take over the house.*
*When the kids are old enough to use the boathouse.*
*When we renovate the kitchen.*
It had become so familiar that neither of them had questioned it.
“What does the realtor say?” Megan asked.
Patrick took out his phone.
