My father was gone, and the thought wouldn’t let me go. He’d always been my anchor, but in the end, he sank beneath the weight of debts that dragged us both under. Now the house we once shared was being repossessed, and I had no fight left in me. At the notary’s office, I barely listened—until he mentioned another house. Not the one I was losing, but a different one I’d never heard of. The address meant nothing, but I clung to the documents like a lifeline.
The next day, I went to see it. It was old, but well-kept. I tried the key—it didn’t fit. As I peered through a window, the front door suddenly opened. A stern woman, about sixty, stood in the doorway, staring at me.
