You have no business going through his coat pockets like some suspicious teenager.”

“Mom, please listen to what I’m telling you,” I said.

“No, you listen to me,” my mother answered, putting her spoon down on her saucer with a hard clatter.

“You’re thirty-one years old and expecting.

You need to rest, stop starting pointless fights over household bills and let David handle the family’s money.”

David gave her a quiet, modest smile of gratitude.

“Thank you, Helen.