It was my sister who had asked the innocent question three weeks earlier. “Have you seen the deed lately?” I hadn’t. Why would I? Marcus handled the paperwork. Marcus always handled the paperwork. That was our arrangement, the quiet division of labor we’d settled into without ever discussing it. He did the finances. I did everything else.
So I went to the county office on my lunch break, and the clerk slid the deed across the counter, and there it was. One name. His. Not ours. His.