Chapter 2 - The DocumentI didn't open the door immediately.
My father's face through the peephole looked nothing like the man who had sat silently at dinner the night before.
He looked old.
Not physically.
Defeated.
His shoulders were hunched. His gray hair was uncombed. He clutched a thick envelope against his chest.
"What did Eric do?" I asked.
"He didn't tell me."
That answer frightened me more than anything else.
I opened the door.
Dad stepped inside.
He placed the envelope on my kitchen table.
"It's from the mortgage company."
I looked at him.
"You've known for three years that I've been paying it."
He lowered his eyes.
"I knew you were helping."
"Helping?"
"Rachel..."
"No. Say it correctly."
He swallowed.
"You've been making the payments."
"Yes."
He rubbed his forehead.
"Your mother didn't want me to tell you."
A bitter laugh escaped me.
"I was paying $2,400 every month, Dad. How was there something you couldn't tell me?"
He opened the envelope.
The first page was a foreclosure warning.
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"There's a problem."
"With what?"
"The loan."
He turned the page.
The mortgage balance was much higher than I expected.
Not because of the regular payments.
Because there were additional liens.
A home-equity loan.
Unpaid property taxes.
Late fees.
And another debt attached to the property.
I stared at the numbers.
"Why wasn't this handled?"
Dad looked away.
"Because Eric borrowed against the house."
The room seemed to tilt.
"When?"
"Two years ago."
I looked up sharply.
"Two years ago?"
"He said it was temporary."
"How much?"
Dad hesitated.
"Seventy-five thousand."
I stared at him.
"And you let him?"
"It's complicated."
"No. It's actually very simple."
I pointed at the document.
"You mortgaged the house again."
Dad's voice cracked.
"Eric said he'd pay it back."
"Did he?"
"No."
A cold feeling moved through me.
"Mom knew?"
Dad nodded.
"She knew."
"And Derek?"
"I don't know."
I thought about last night's dinner.
Derek laughing.
Eric smirking.
Mason saying, "Dad says you deserve it."
Suddenly, those words felt different.
Not childish cruelty.
Something rehearsed.
"Why did nobody tell me?"
Dad looked directly at me.
"Because they were afraid you'd stop paying."
There it was.
The truth.
Not gratitude.
Not love.
Fear.
They didn't need me to feel appreciated.
They needed me to remain useful.
I sat down.
"How bad is it?"
Dad slid another page toward me.
The property would enter foreclosure proceedings if the delinquent amount wasn't resolved.
My parents had less than thirty days.
I stared at him.
"Then maybe you should sell the house."
Mom's voice came from the hallway.
"No."
I turned.
She had followed Dad.
She looked furious.
"This house is not being sold."
I almost laughed.
"You told me not to contact you again."
Her expression tightened.
"We didn't mean it like that."
"Then how did you mean it?"
She stepped closer.
"You knew your father was struggling."
"You knew I was paying the mortgage."
"Because you're our daughter."
"And that gives you the right to insult me?"
Silence.
Then Mom said the sentence that changed everything.
"You were always going to inherit this house."
I looked at her.
"What?"
She nodded.
"That's why we never worried."
"About what?"
"About you leaving us."
My chest tightened.
"You expected me to keep paying because one day I'd inherit the house."
Mom said nothing.
I looked at Dad.
He couldn't meet my eyes.
Then I noticed another document sticking out from the envelope.
A legal filing.
My name was printed across the top.
I pulled it free.
It wasn't a mortgage document.
It was a transfer form.
And beneath my name was a signature.
May you like
My signature.
Except I had never signed it.
