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

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Did something happen?”

Christina drifted past me instead of answering. She ran her fingertips across the back of a dining chair, then along the counter edge, then lightly over the brushed brass handle of the refrigerator, as if she were already sorting the room into categories of keep, replace, and remove.

“Actually,” she said, “we’re here because something needs to change.”

Jonathan folded his hands in front of him and offered the sort of smile people use when they are about to say something ugly and want credit for sounding calm while they do it. Christina inhaled, squared her shoulders, and said, “You have forty-eight hours. Pack your things and get out.

This house belongs to us now.”

For one long, hollow second, I honestly believed I had misheard her. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said. “Mom and Dad signed.