Chapter 2

Grant moved toward Emma. She stepped behind me before he reached her, a small movement that stopped him more effectively than a raised voice.

“You weren't supposed to get an alert,” he said.

Emma stared at him. “That is your first answer?”

I had spent years teaching teenagers to ask adults for plain information: What will this cost? What happens next? Who made the decision?

In my own marriage, I had accepted polished answers because I knew the man beneath them.

Grant had once worked winter roofs so we could make the first deposit into Emma's account.

He had built her a desk from leftover oak and carved a crooked E into the drawer.

Remembering that man did not erase the one standing in front of us. It explained why part of me still waited for him to correct himself.

Grant told Emma the money would be back by August. A large renovation contract was almost approved. Her applications were strong. If the scholarship came through, she would never miss the funds.

“My housing deposit is due in ten days,” she said. “The scholarship decisions come next month.”

Brooke folded both hands over her abdomen. “Grant said you had options.” Her voice carried the careful steadiness of someone defending a promise she needed to believe. “My landlord is selling. I have to move before the baby comes.”

Emma's face changed when she heard baby. She did not look at Brooke again. “Is it yours?” she asked her father.

Grant glanced toward the dark windows. “There was one night six months ago. Brooke is twenty-five weeks pregnant. The timing means the baby is probably mine.”

One night did not explain the rent payments, the key, or how comfortably Brooke had entered a house staged for our anniversary.

I stored those questions instead of spending them all at once.

“Have you had a paternity test?” I asked.

“Not yet. That doesn't mean I can ignore a child who may be mine.”

He made responsibility sound noble because he had removed its price from someone else's account.

Grant had always wanted to be the man who arrived with a solution.

He hated being seen during the part where a solution cost him.

Emma unclipped the brass college mascot from her backpack.

Grant had bought it during our first campus visit, telling her he would be proud wherever she went.

She placed it beside his wineglass.

“You didn't even ask me,” she said.

Grant looked at me. “Take her home. I'll explain after everyone calms down.”

“She has enough information to decide where she sleeps tonight.” I lifted the cedar box. “So do I.”

We went to the small furnished apartment a coworker kept vacant while caring for her mother.

I promised Emma no miracle. In the morning, I would find out where the money was and whether the closing could still be stopped.

At 1:14 a.m., Grant sent a single message: Don't go to the bank. The house is already Brooke's.

The attachment beneath it was a closing sheet.

Friday, 10:00 a.m.

The house did not belong to Brooke yet. Grant had lied because he needed me to believe the last door was already closed.