I Finally Took My Ex-Husband’s “Three-Thousand-Dollar” Card to the Bank—Then the Manager Brought Out an Envelope with My Name
Rent was due soon.
The pharmacy bill sat under a magnet on the refrigerator.
My cupboard held enough to get through tomorrow if I was careful, and being careful had become the whole structure of my days.
I could pretend I had another way.
Or I could use the three thousand dollars.
I turned the card over.
A faint blue mark near the magnetic strip caught my eye.
Part of it said Baltimore.