Then, 3 weeks later, I went to Meijer to buy groceries.

I was in the baking aisle, looking at the flour, when I ran into Nancy. Nancy lived 3 houses down from Linda.

She looked at me, her eyes wide, and grabbed my arm.

“Sarah,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Did you hear what happened to Linda and Greg?”

My stomach dropped. “No. I haven’t spoken to them.”

“The sheriff is at their house right now,” Nancy said. “The bank is foreclosing. They are putting all their things out on the lawn.”

I stood frozen in the aisle.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “They saved the house 3 years ago.”

Nancy shook her head. “They didn’t save anything, Sarah. Greg took a second mortgage to pay off his credit card debts and buy that pontoon boat. They haven’t made a mortgage payment in 8 months. The bank took the house. They’re being evicted today.”

I left my shopping cart in the aisle. I ran to my Chevy. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely get the key in the ignition.

I drove straight to Linda’s neighborhood.

The street was blocked by a large moving truck and a Lansing police department SUV.

When I parked and walked closer, I saw the scene.

Linda’s brand-new leather sofa was sitting on the wet grass of the front lawn. Her big-screen TV was resting against a maple tree. Cardboard boxes, bags of clothes, and kitchenware were scattered everywhere. It was raining lightly, and the water was soaking into their expensive belongings.

Greg was red-faced, screaming at a deputy who was standing on the porch. The deputy was calm, his arms crossed, pointing to the paperwork in his hand.

Linda was sitting on a plastic crate by the curb, her face buried in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

When she heard my footsteps on the wet grass, she looked up.

Her eyes were red and swollen. When she saw me, she scrambled to her feet and ran to me.

“Sarah!” she screamed, grabbing my sleeve. “Please! You have to talk to them! Tell them you’ll write a check! They’re taking everything we own! Greg needs another 5,000 dollars to delay the eviction! Please, Sarah, we’re family!”

I looked at her.

I looked at her wet clothes. I looked at the leather sofa getting ruined in the rain.

I felt nothing. The anger, the hurt, the cold weight in my chest. It all just evaporated.

“We don’t owe you anything, Linda,” I said. My voice was flat, clear, and perfectly calm. “And you never made me sign.”