When my sister Ruth finally found me, I was sitting on a twin bed in an upstairs room, my left eye still bruised. Marcus filled the doorway, blocking the exit. Ruth looked at my face and asked the question I’d choked on for months: “Why isn’t she living in the house she bought with Otis?” Marcus didn’t hesitate. He smiled and said, “That house is my wife’s now. And if my mother keeps talking, I’ll hit her again and she’ll wear that color for weeks.”

“A formality,” he said. “You need to officially renounce any claim on the house. Vanessa’s lawyer says it’s necessary to close everything.”

My palms started sweating. “But I already gave you the house. I already—”

“This is different,” he snapped. “This makes sure there are no problems later. It keeps things clear. It protects you too.”

“Protect me from what?”

“From legal problems. From taxes. Just do it.” He jabbed his finger at a line at the bottom.

I took the paper and tried to read it, but the letters blurred and danced. It was written in language I didn’t understand—long words, complicated clauses.

“I don’t understand what this says.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Marcus said sharply. “Just do it. It’s best for everyone.”

“I want someone independent to review it first.”

His face changed in an instant, like a door slamming shut. His eyes went hard again, jaw tight.

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