“He figured she’d sign the whole pile without reading the fine print.

She kept the second page hidden under her blanket and gave it to me after Arthur left.”

“Does Arthur know this draft is in our hands?” I asked.

“He thinks Mother signed whatever he put on her tray.”

I picked up the application and held it near the edge of the counter.

Margaret’s handwriting at the bottom was shaky, but every letter of her name was clearly formed.

Under the yellow kitchen light, Arthur’s typing sat right next to her name like a fence thrown up across an open field.