My attorney had called once.

“Good. That’s why you deserve it, Alma.”

Henry shifted the box. “Do you want me to settle you in the guest room, Mom?”

I looked at the key in my palm.

For years, I’d waited for someone else to decide where I belonged.

Victor. His family. The room. The name.

Not anymore.

“No,” I said. “I can do it myself.”

“That’s why you deserve it, Alma.”