A twenty-thousand-dollar cashier’s check from eight years earlier when Garrett thought he was going to buy into a home-inspection franchise with a friend. That business had lasted six months and one ugly lawsuit over equipment.
A payment to a roofing company on their old house.
Continuing education fees for Marissa’s real-estate licensing courses.
Two semesters of Rebecca’s college tuition.
A quarterly insurance draft for Marissa’s SUV.
A line-item payment for Toby’s private tennis lessons back when he swore he was going to play in college.
A florist charge I had covered for Marissa’s charity luncheon because “the centerpieces came in over budget.”
The down payment wire for the new townhouse.
My hand rested on the paper for a long moment.
A woman can spend years mistaking usefulness for love.
That was the thought that came to me then, simple and brutal.