“I know how hard it is raising Emma on a teacher’s salary, and I want to take some of that weight off you.”

Emma picked up a wooden doll and set it on the dollhouse balcony without a sound.

“Let’s sit down in the kitchen for a minute,” my mother said, getting up and gesturing toward the hall.

“There’s something I want to show you.”

I followed her into the kitchen, where the evening light lay across the pine table.

My mother opened her black leather handbag and took out a four-page stapled document and a silver ballpoint.

“What’s this?” I asked, standing by the counter.