The lights were on when I pulled into the driveway that Thursday morning. I sat there with the engine still running and just stared at the cottage. Mama’s cottage. The one she left me when she passed.

I almost turned around right then. Something in my gut told me to leave it alone. But I had come all this way and the trust was closing the next day. So I got out of the car.

The front door was unlocked. That was the first thing that felt wrong. Tom and I always locked up when we left. I pushed it open slow and stepped inside.

A jacket I didn’t recognize was thrown over the back of the couch. Light blue. Not mine. The place smelled different too, like someone else’s perfume had settled into the curtains.

I walked straight to the kitchen because that’s where Mama’s dishes still sat in the cabinets. I don’t even know why I needed to check on them. They were still there, the blue and white plates she used every summer.

On the table was a manila folder with the county seal on it. I opened it and there were the papers. The quitclaim deed Tom had signed. The Farris Family Trust listed as the new owner. And right on top was a note in Tom’s handwriting.

I picked it up and read it twice before the words really sank in.

“Sarah, the cottage is ready for you. We can move your things in this weekend. Tom”

I stood there holding that note and the house was completely quiet except for the refrigerator humming. My hands started shaking so I set the paper back down on the folder.

Tom had been driving to Greenville every other week for the last six months.

He said it was work stuff with the new client. I never asked too many questions because things had been tight between us since Mama died and I figured he needed the space.

The tax notice showed up the week before. It was addressed to the Farris Family Trust. I called the county clerk and she told me the deed had been transferred by quitclaim the month before. Signed by my husband. Notarized in Greenville.

I called Tom right after that.

“What did you do with Mama’s cottage?” I asked him.

He got real quiet on the phone. Then he said “It’s just business. Don’t worry about it.”

I told him the trust was closing Friday and somebody named Farris was taking it. He said we could talk when he got home. That was the last time we spoke before I drove down.

The clerk had given me the name on the trust. Sarah Farris. I looked her up quick on my phone before I left the house. She worked at the same company Tom did in Greenville. Her picture showed a woman maybe ten years younger than me.