I’d watched that specific flicker a hundred times over the years. Always followed by some version of wounded confusion designed to make whoever confronted her feel unreasonable for even asking. This time, watching for it deliberately, I finally understood it for exactly what it was. A performance, rehearsed so many times it had become almost automatic.
“About what?” she asked, settling into her usual seat at our table. The one she’d claimed as hers years ago without anyone officially deciding it.
I placed the folder in the center of the table.
“About this,” I said.
I’d rehearsed that exact moment more times than I could count, and somehow, standing there watching her open it. None of my rehearsals had prepared me for how steady my own voice would actually sound.
Deloris looked at it for a long moment before reaching for it, opening it slowly. Her face carefully neutral in a way. That told me she already knew exactly what was inside.
“Where did you find this?” she asked quietly.
“In the filing cabinet you left in our garage,” I said. “The one you never came back for.”
“That was private,” she said, voice sharpening.
“So was our deed,” I said. “Until you decided otherwise.”
