The cashier’s check wasn’t a generous gift for my unborn child.

It was a payoff to stop me from asking why Julian needed unwatched access to my home.

Arthur had stolen the deadbolt key from my purse while I was crying beside my dead husband’s casket.

They weren’t trying to help a pregnant widow handle property taxes or patch up a drafty house.

They were trying to break into David’s locked military audit vault before the extraction team showed up on Thanksgiving morning.

“I understand,” I said softly, my voice even and dry.