That,” I said, pointing toward the moving truck outside, “is the company handling the sale of everything inside the house that legally belongs to me. Which, as it turns out, is most of it.”

For five exhausting days, I had done what no one in my family believed I would ever do. I searched through old receipts, contracts, warranties, bank records, and loan papers. Every couch, every appliance, every dining chair, every television, and even the car parked in the driveway had been purchased with my money or placed under my name because my parents’ credit had long been ruined. The buyers wanted the house completely empty, and the auction company had arrived to make that happen. My father stared silently at the folder shaking in his hands while my mother looked as though the ground had disappeared beneath her feet. Bridget’s face turned pale as another truck pulled into the driveway, and then someone stepped out carrying a thick envelope.