The idea of buying a house had always felt like something I’d do “someday,” when everything was stable and safe. But stability and safety were myths now. If I wanted them, I had to build them.
So I did.
I toured small places with hardwood floors and sunlit kitchens. Places that didn’t need to impress anyone. Places that felt like quiet.
A month later, I sat at a closing table and signed my name.
My real name.
With a hand that no longer trembled.
When the title company slid the deed across the table, I stared at it like it was proof of survival.
It wasn’t a mansion.
But it was mine.
Part 7
Cass’s sentencing came on another Tuesday, because life has a cruel sense of symmetry.
This time, the courtroom felt less tense, more resigned. The big drama had already happened. Now it was paperwork and consequences and the judge’s voice reading out a future Cass didn’t want.
Cass stood when instructed. Beige again, like she’d decided color was too risky. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, knuckles pale. She looked at the judge, then at me, then down.
Her lawyer spoke about her “potential.” Her “mistakes.” Her “difficult upbringing,” which almost made me laugh out loud because we had the same upbringing and only one of us committed mortgage fraud.
The prosecutor spoke about the facts. The deliberate nature of the crime. The amount. The impact.
Then Cass was allowed to speak.
She swallowed hard. “I know I did wrong,” she said, voice shaking. “I just… I didn’t think it would ruin everything. I thought I could fix it before anyone found out.”
There it was again.
Not I’m sorry I hurt you.
Just I’m sorry consequences exist.
Cass glanced at me. Her eyes were wet, but I couldn’t tell if it was regret or fear.
“I love my sister,” she added quickly, like the word love should act as a shield. “I never wanted her to get hurt.”
I stayed still. Love without respect is just another kind of theft.
The judge listened without reacting, then delivered the sentence: a plea agreement with felony conviction, probation, restitution, mandatory financial counseling, and community service. There would be no immediate prison time, but one violation—one missed restitution payment, one new fraud attempt—and jail would be waiting.
Cass’s shoulders sagged with relief, and for a second I saw something in her face that looked like she’d already convinced herself she was the victim.