“What did he mean about your mom losing her house?”
I didn’t know.
At least not completely. But a sick feeling had already settled deep in my stomach.
My mother had always been secretive about money. She owned a small house in Beaverton — the one my father left her after the divorce. For years she acted as if it was fully paid off. She used that house as proof she was responsible, stable, and smarter than everyone else.
But the next morning, my aunt Carol called.
“I heard there was a fight,” she said carefully.
“There was,” I answered.
Carol sighed heavily. “Emily… your mom never told you?”
My grip tightened around the phone.
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