was my first real mistake.
Not because family should always require paperwork.
Because when money, shelter, and grief live in the same house, assumptions turn into claims.
Six months passed.
Ryan said the business was still in early development.
Eight months passed.
He said he had promising leads.
A year passed.
The utility bills were mine.
The grocery receipts were mine.
The mortgage statement came in my name.
The county property tax notice came in my name.
The homeowners insurance came in my name.
But inside the house, my name started to matter less.
Cassie bought Duke without asking.
He was a good dog, but that was not the point.
The point was the red collar on a dog I had not agreed to, sleeping on a couch I had paid for, in a living room where Patricia’s rocking chair suddenly “threw off the flow.”
Cassie moved that chair to
