The pen felt heavier than it should have. It was a simple ballpoint, black plastic, the kind banks give away by the hundreds. But in Bella's hand, hovering over the line of the deed, it felt like an anchor. The closing table was polished mahogany, reflecting the overhead lights and the faces of the people around it. The real estate agent, a woman named Susan who had patiently shown her forty houses before finding the one, smiled encouragingly.
"Whenever you're ready, Bella," Susan said.
Bella looked at the document. Grant Deed. Her name was printed at the top. Isabella Chen, a single woman. Not Valerio. Not Widow. Just Bella. She pressed the pen to the paper. The ink flowed. She signed her name. It was done. The house in the Queen Anne neighborhood was hers.
She handed the pen back. Sus
