I Finally Took My Ex-Husband’s “Three-Thousand-Dollar” Card to the Bank—Then the Manager Brought Out an Envelope with My Name

She brought soup.

When I said I had already eaten, she put it in the refrigerator without asking what I’d eaten or demanding proof.

The radiator knocked twice.

She glanced at Gregory’s letter beneath the statement.

“Are you going to contact him?”

“I am going to write.”

“To thank him?”

“To tell him what I’ve decided.”