Kayla walked slowly toward the sign planted in the grass beside the driveway. It was bright red, and staked deep enough that no wind could move it. Brandon came up behind her, still holding a paddleboard, and I watched his smile slide off his face. Across the top, in thick white letters, it said SOLD. Below that was Patricia Doyle’s name, and a smaller strip reading CLOSING TODAY.

Then the cottage door opened from the inside. An older man stepped onto the porch holding a set of keys, with a woman carrying a clipboard behind him. “Can I help you?” he asked. Kayla’s voice came out thin. “This is my mother’s house.” The man glanced at the sign and said, “Not since nine o’clock this morning.” Kayla turned and stared straight into the security camera, as if she knew I was watching.