I looked at her stained canvas apron and the fine white corn silk dust on her work boots.

My parents truly believed Mark’s money rules were part of an honest, shared sacrifice to keep our home secure.

“Yes,” I said.

“Mark talks about household discipline every evening.”

“He’s protecting your family,” Grace said, giving my arm a warm, solid pat.

“Not every young man knows how to hold the line on spending.”

At nine o’clock that night, Mark sat at his desk in the upstairs office.

A tall stack of high school administrative folders sat beside his open laptop.