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

I pressed it flat, then stopped.

There was a repair shop near the pharmacy.

I could ask what it would cost without pretending the question meant I had already agreed to buy a new bag.

I wrote it beneath the grocery list.

Eggs.

Bread.

Oatmeal.

Apples.