The question stayed with me as we drove.

I could have asked Michael to turn around.

I could have insisted that he show me the bank envelope, or called a friend and said I would be out for the day.

Instead, I rested my handbag between my shoes and tried to believe that I was being unfair.

Michael reached over and took my hand.

“Let’s have a good day,” he said.

I squeezed his fingers.