Two days after Grandma’s funeral, I was still in her kitchen. Then my brother texted: “”We’re in the Maldives. We can’t access Grandma’s account.”” I said nothing. Good thing I moved Grandma’s $235,000. He panicked when…

I pulled it out with shaking hands and opened it. Inside were the original deed papers. When we bought the house, the title officer had advised us to leave it in my name first since I was putting down the entire initial payment. Daniel had agreed at the time. We said we would transfer it later. Later never came.

There it was on paper, clear as daylight.

Property located at 847 Jurist Circle, North Alpine Estates. Owner: Beatrice Torres Mendoza.

My name.

Only my name.

In the first few months Daniel had mentioned transferring it. After that, life always got in the way. We kept postponing it until he stopped asking. And I, consciously or not, stopped reminding him.

Now I understood why.

Some part of me had already known I would need protection.

I placed the deed papers back in the envelope, then reached for my phone and dialed the number I had saved months earlier.

“Megan?”

A bright, professional voice answered.

“Aunt B? What a surprise. Are you okay?”

Megan was my niece, my younger sister’s daughter, a family-law attorney, thirty-eight years old and razor sharp after a painful divorce that had made her fearless in court.