“That account is closed.”

“Apparently not.”

He took the phone.

“I haven’t logged into this in at least four years.”

Then his expression changed again.

“Emily.”

“What?”

“I gave someone access to that account once.”

“Who?”

He glanced at the closed front door.

“My mother.”

And for the first time, the question was no longer simply why Michael had changed the locks. It was why Linda had been preparing for me to transfer ownership of my home before anyone had ever asked me to do it.

PART 4 — THE TRUTH BEHIND THE LOCKED DOOR

Somewhere below us, thousands of people were beginning an ordinary workday. Inside my living room, my husband was staring at an email apparently sent from an account he hadn’t used in years. An email containing a draft letter promising that I would add him to the title of my condo. And his mother had once had access to that account. I took my phone back.