I began scrolling through his sent messages, typing “mortgage” into the search bar.

“Get off my computer,” Ethan said, his voice dropping to a low, warning register.

He reached out to close the lid, but I blocked his hand with my forearm.

“Don’t touch me,” I said, my voice ice-cold.

A search result caught my eye.

It was an email from a local credit union, dated just three days ago.

The subject line read: *Application Status – Second Mortgage.*

I clicked it open.

Attached was a PDF document labeled *Approved_Agreement_Vance.*

My breath hitched as I scrolled down to the signature pages of the mortgage application.

The application was for a home equity line of credit on our suburban home—the home my mother had helped us buy, which was registered in both our names.

At the bottom of the page were two signatures.

One was Ethan’s.

The other was mine.

But I had never seen this document in my life.

I stared at the looping cursive of my name, my heart pounding violently against my ribs.

The signature looked almost exactly like mine, but the slant of the letters was slightly off.