I photographed the stack of overdue utility bills, and the thermostat that had been switched off, and the empty refrigerator, and the bank statements with their long luxurious lists.

I built a record, careful and complete and timestamped, because I had learned in the Navy that the truth is only as strong as your ability to prove it, and I intended to be able to prove all of it.

Then I called the physician overseeing Raymond’s oncology care and told him, plainly, everything I had found.

There was a long, heavy silence on the line when I finished.

“Giselle,” he said, and his voice had changed.

“Preserve that bottle.