“Your mother is gone. Tears won’t bring her back—so wipe your face, make dinner, and don’t look like a grieving child when my guests arrive.” That was what my husband said.

I told him that the mortgage money he gave me each month was laughably small for paying off such a large house in this upscale neighborhood. The money he gave me barely covered our daily food expenses if my mother hadn’t secretly supplemented it. This house had been bought by my mother 10 years ago, long before I married Mark, paid for entirely in cash. My mother had let Mark feel like he was the owner of the house. She had let him boast about the renovations, even though the cost of changing the wallpaper had been reimbursed by my mother through the expense money, just so Mark could feel like a respected head of the family.