Her beloved house, built by her grandfather for her grandmother as a wedding present, had only one tiny flaw—a detached single-car garage. She often entered the house through the mudroom across the driveway from the garage, but the landscapers had rather effectively blocked that door with an enormous load of mulch. A few weeds sprouted in the flowerbeds lining the front porch. A lawn care company handled the mowing and tree work, but working in the gardens brought back fond memories of spring planting and fall covering, time spent with her grandmother. She’d kept the house in the divorce. Once, just once, in a meeting to divide their assets, Davis had talked about going after it, despite the fact that her name and her name only was on the deed. She’d asked their respective lawyers to give them a minute, then spoken to Davis in a very low, very calm tone of voice. Ninety seconds later the lawyers were back and the house was off the table. Her property before the marriage, just like her trust fund.
