At first, I thought it was a mistake. Then I saw the names. Plaintiffs: Robert and Margaret Carter. Defendant: Evelyn Carter. My parents were suing me.

The words blurred for a second before I laughed out loud—the kind of dry, tired laugh that comes from someone who has seen too many absurd things to cry about one more. I carried the letter inside, set it on the kitchen table, and stared at it while my dog, a big old shepherd named Knox, limped over and rested his head on my knee. “Guess they finally found another way to talk to me,” I murmured.