And a woman I’d never met had just arrived to inform me that I should leave it.
Then my eyes moved toward the office at the end of the hallway.
Inside, hanging in a simple black frame, was a copy of our property deed.
My father had insisted I display it years earlier.
“So you never forget what’s yours, Debby,” he’d told me.
At the time, I’d laughed.
I thought he was simply being protective.
But Dad had always been careful with money and documents.
He encouraged me to maintain separate accounts.
Keep important paperwork organized.
And understand exactly what I owned.
He’d passed away three years earlier.
I missed him terribly.
That morning, standing in front of the framed deed, I remembered how firmly he’d insisted that I protect my financial independence.
The house had been purchased outright with money from his estate.
The deed was in my name alone.
Tyler had signed documents confirming that arrangement years earlier.
