I stepped back, folding my arms over my sore ribs.

“He’s your husband, Brenda, he was never mine,” I said.

I unzipped my coat pocket, reached in and took out the crisp fifty-dollar bill David had left on the glass dining table Tuesday morning.

“This is every dollar he really had left,” I said.

Brenda stared down at the green bill, her bottom lip shaking as her shoulders sagged under the red coat.

I stretched out my arm and held the bill out to her.