Ethan’s shoulders sank an inch lower.

The judge brought her gavel down.

The sound was a single, sharp crack that ended the silence.

The bailiffs stepped forward and pulled Ethan and Margaret up by their elbows.

The metal chains around their waists clinked as they turned toward the side door.

Ethan looked back toward the gallery.

His eyes found mine.

His mouth moved, but no sound came out.

I did not look away.

I watched him until the heavy oak door closed behind him.

***

The Brooks family estate was sold on a Tuesday in November.

The grass in the front yard had grown long and wild.

The iron gates at the entrance were chained open, the padlock rusted through.

I stood in the center of the kitchen.

The floorboards had been replaced, but I could still see where the new wood met the old.

A real estate agent named Marcus stood near the glass doors leading to the patio.

He was holding a leather folder and a gold pen.

“The buyers signed the final papers this morning,” Marcus said.