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

That evening, she came to my apartment and made soup.

I protested about the groceries.

She said she had vegetables that needed using.

I knew enough about her refrigerator to doubt that, but I let it pass.

The radiator knocked twice before it warmed the room.

Karen looked at the envelope on the table.

“Would you open it if you were me?” I asked.

“Yes.”