My sister’s son hurled a dinner fork at me and declared, “Mom says you’re basically the help.” The table erupted in laughter. I was gone before dessert ever reached the plates.

David was quiet. “As your attorney, I must tell you foreclosure is time-consuming.”

“And as a human being,” I said, “I must tell you I’m done being treated like a servant in a house I own.”

“So that’s a no,” he said gently.

“That’s a no,” I confirmed.

Day five, Marcus showed up at my office.

Security called first. “Marcus Turner is here. Says he’s your brother-in-law. He seems… upset.”

I gave him five minutes in a conference room with security present.

When I walked in, Marcus stood quickly. He looked wrecked—hair mussed, shadows under his eyes, the skin around his mouth drawn tight.

“Nina,” he said. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“You have five minutes,” I replied, sitting down.

He swallowed hard. “We’ll lose everything,” he said. “The house, the kids’ school district, their friends. Jessica made a mistake. She was drunk. She’s sorry.”

“Is she?” I asked. “Because she hasn’t apologized. She sent lawyers. She sent my mother. She sent you.”

Marcus’s shoulders slumped. “She’s terrified.”

“She wasn’t terrified when she texted me to know my place,” I said.

He flinched.