At 3:45 on Christmas afternoon, after I had spent two days cooking dinner for my son and daughter-in-law, my doorbell finally rang. It wasn’t them. A courier handed me a manila envelope in Lauren’s handwriting: “We decided to spend Christmas at my mom’s house this year. Last minute change. Hope you understand.” My husband had been gone only nine months. By sunrise the next morning, I found another envelope hidden outside in Richard’s handwriting, and the message inside sent me straight to the desk he had told me not to touch.

David’s eyes narrowed.

“You talked to Harris.”

“Yes.”

He whispered a curse.

That told me more than any explanation.

“You knew your father had discussed you with him.”

“Of course I knew who Dad’s accountant was.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

Silence.

Behind him, the SUV door opened.

Lauren stepped out.

“David?”

He lifted one hand without turning around.

Even now, he wanted to control the conversation.

I slid the check back into the folder.

“You did not come here because you’re worried about me.”

“Mom, don’t do this.”

“You came because you’re worried about what I know and what I control.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Then why are you asking about my accounts two days after leaving me alone on Christmas?”

His face tightened.

“You’ve always made everything emotional.”

I actually smiled.

“David, you took money from an account with my name on it and forged my signature. I think I’m allowed an emotion.”