Look at the Dates
That Friday morning I opened the banking app at a quarter to nine with Marcus beside me, and the Friday line was there but the five hundred and fifty dollar payment was not.
Is that what you expected, he said.
I expected to see it, I said, and I did not entirely know what I meant, except that three years of a thing leaves a shape in you, and the shape goes on expecting the thing after the thing is gone.
At nine o’clock, the hour that had taken the money every week before I finished my coffee, the account simply stayed where it was.
Nothing left it.
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