My phone vibrated.
Mark had sent a message.
“Where are you, sweetheart?”
Another message appeared seconds later.
“You said you had wonderful news.”
I stared at the screen until the words blurred.
Then I typed a reply.
“Something came up, and we’ll talk later.”
I switched off my phone.
For the first time in nearly thirty years, I chose not to answer my husband simply because he demanded my attention.
When I reached home, I placed the ticket on the kitchen table beside a pile of overdue bills.
The room was painfully familiar.
This was where I had cried after learning our retirement account was nearly empty.
This was where I had calculated how many more hours I needed to work to afford Mark’s latest treatment.
This was where he had kissed my forehead and thanked me for being his miracle.
I opened a notebook and wrote down every payment I could remember making.
