At 5:06 a.m., my sister walked into the house I bo…

Jonathan mentioned a contractor who “owed him a favor.”

Christina speculated about whether the staircase should be stained darker. My mother asked weakly whether the guest room would stay a guest room. Jonathan said no, that would become his office.

Christina said maybe they should do built-ins along the den wall. My father said almost nothing, which was somehow worse than if he had defended them outright. I listened for maybe forty seconds.

Then I picked up my coffee, my laptop, and my phone and went upstairs. Inside my closet, behind a row of winter coats, there was a fireproof box on the top shelf. I brought it down, set it on the bed, and opened it.

Inside were the documents I hadn’t touched in over a year because I hadn’t needed to. The recorded deed. The title insurance policy.