I got the folder out of the kitchen drawer. I actually read it this time.

I’m not going to pretend I understood every word of it because I didn’t. But I understood enough. There was language in there about transferring certain property interests.

About me retaining the right to live in the home for a period of, and then a number that was not a very large number of years. There were pages about the estate and about joint ownership and about what happens when. I read the whole thing standing at the kitchen counter and then I sat down on the floor. Not dramatically, I just sort of sat down because my legs felt weird. I sat on the kitchen floor for a while.

Here is the thing about Renee and David that I keep getting stuck on. They’re not bad people. I know that sounds like something you say when you’re trying to convince yourself, but I mean it genuinely and it’s actually what makes this so hard. David coaches his son’s baseball team. Renee volunteers at her church. They both called me every day for the first month after Frank died. I have watched them grow up and I know who they are and they are not bad people. They are, I think, people who have decided they know what’s best and have started working toward it without asking me. Which is its own kind of thing. I’m still figuring out what to call it.

I think what happened is that they looked at this house and they looked at me, a 71-year-old woman alone in a four-bedroom house, and they did some math. The house is worth a lot more now than it was. The neighborhood changed. I know what it’s worth because I’m not completely out of touch, I see the listings when houses sell nearby.

And I think they decided, or maybe Renee decided and talked David into it, that the practical thing was to get ahead of it. Sell the house while the market is good, get me set up somewhere smaller, split whatever’s left as their inheritance sooner rather than later. I think they genuinely believe this is logical. I think they might even believe it’s kind. And that is the part that keeps me up at night, more than the anger does.