My ex-mother-in-law applauded outside the courthouse after the judge finalized our divorce, then led the family off to celebrate my embarrassment. But when they returned to the family home, their laughter stopped—the sheriff was there, their belongings were on the lawn, and the house belonged to me legally.

“Where are my jewelry cases?”

“In the blue tote,” one of the movers said. “Everything was inventoried.”

The word “inventoried” seemed to humiliate her more than the eviction itself. Patricia had always believed rules were for people beneath her. Receipts, signatures, notices, judges, deputies — those were problems for other families. Not Monroes.

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