Emily smiled.
“It would be perfect. Mother-in-law, you help us with the kids. We take care of you like a real family.”
That word.
Family.
I signed the sale papers three weeks later.
The suburban house with its high ceilings and forty-two years of memories sold for $120,000. I gave Daniel $68,000 for the down payment. I put the rest in a savings account, thinking it was my safety net.
What I didn’t do—and this is what weighs on me the most to this day—was put my name on the deed of the new house.
Daniel told me it wasn’t necessary, that the house was for everyone.
“Why complicate the paperwork?”
And I, like an idiot, trusted him.
The house was in a gated community with a security booth, three bedrooms, two and a half baths, a two-car garage—nice, modern, cold.
The first few months were tolerable.
