At two in the afternoon, I sat on the edge of our unmade bed and called Sarah’s home number.

The sharp metal jingle of her car keys came through the little speaker before she said a word.

“Where’s he at right now?” Sarah asked.

“He went off to a business meeting at one fifteen,” I said, looking at the green numbers on the digital alarm clock.

“Sarah, he made pancakes from scratch this morning.”

“Clara, stop it,” Sarah said.

“He gave me fifty dollars cash for lunch, and he kissed my forehead before he left,” I said, pulling my heavy cardigan tighter around my shoulders.