“What is that?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Rylan unfolded the paper slowly, smoothing it flat against the kitchen counter.

The yellow light from the pendant lamp fell across the neat columns of legal text.

“It’s a post-nuptial agreement,” he said, his voice calm and steady.

“And what does it do?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“It amends the title of the house,” he said.

“It adds my name to the deed.”

I took a step back, my heel catching on the edge of the braided rug my grandmother had made.

“You want my house,” I said.

“Our house,” he corrected gently.

“I’ve lived here for five years, Calla. I’ve mowed the lawn, fixed the pipes, and helped you maintain it.”

“My grandmother left this house to me,” I said, my chest tightening.

“It was her wish that it stay in my family.”

“I am your family,” Rylan said.

He stepped closer, the paper still resting under his hand on the counter.

“But right now, I have no legal protection if something happens to you, or if we split up.”