"No."
"Have you signed a power of attorney giving him that authority?"
"No."
The lawyer nodded.
"Then we need to make sure nobody is relying on an inaccurate representation."
Naya felt her heart begin racing.
She thought about her husband's repeated requests to refinance the house.
His frustration when she refused.
And the way he began speaking to other people as though the property belonged to him.
For the first time, she wondered whether his exaggerations had become more than vanity.
Perhaps he was using them to obtain money.
A title review established that the house remained recorded in Naya's name.
There was no completed deed transferring ownership to her husband.
The existing mortgage was tied to Naya's original purchase and subsequent authorized arrangements.
The attorney also examined whether there were any recorded liens or other instruments requiring attention.
The results didn't resolve every possible marital-property question.
But they confirmed something important.
Her husband hadn't acquired ownership simply by moving into the house and telling people it was his.
Naya felt an enormous wave of relief.
Then the attorney raised another concern.
"Your husband may still attempt to create problems by making representations to potential lenders or buyers."
Naya looked toward her.
"What can we do?"
The lawyer explained that they could preserve evidence, notify appropriate parties of disputed representations where legally justified, and seek court relief if necessary.
Naya nodded.
She didn't want to start a public fight before understanding the situation.
But she needed to protect the property's title and financial standing.
The attorney also advised her to avoid signing anything presented by her husband without independent review.
Naya promised.
She didn't know then how soon that advice would become essential.
Her husband approached her about the house again two weeks later.
It was a Sunday evening.
Naya had spent the afternoon organizing baby clothes in the nursery.
Small cotton outfits lay folded inside a dresser.
A pale-yellow blanket rested over the rocking chair.
And a framed photograph of her mother stood on the shelf beside a stack of children's books.
Her husband entered the room carrying his phone.
"Baby, I need you downstairs."
Naya looked up.
"What happened?"
"Business paperwork."
She sighed.
"Can it wait?"
He frowned.
"Not really."
She followed him into the kitchen.
He placed a set of documents on the island.
Then explained that a new lender was reviewing his business finances and wanted clarification about household property and debt obligations.
Naya read the first page.
It concerned financial disclosures.
She looked toward him.