trust.”
Chloe stared at him.
“A trust?”
He nodded.
“Three years ago.”
Three years.
Sitting in the taxi, I closed my eyes and remembered.
Ernest was at our kitchen table, his hands trembling as he signed the paperwork.
Afterward, he looked at me.
“Theresa, promise me something.”
“What?”
“Don’t let them turn this house into your punishment for surviving me.”
I promised him.
And Ernest had protected that promise.
Without telling Austin, he instructed our attorney to establish the trust.
The house, the savings connected to it, and the modest
