That night, over dinner, I told Richard I was taking her to a doctor.

He was checking his work emails, as he always was, wearing an expensive shirt and an expensive watch and an expensive cologne — for himself, my husband spared no expense at all.

It was only ever my mother, and me, on whom every single dollar suddenly became a thing to be scrutinized and, more often than not, denied.

“To throw money down the drain?” he said, with a dry little laugh.

“She’s losing weight, Richard.

She’s nauseous.