My Husband Told Our Daughter to Keep Her Clinic Visits Hidden From Our Bank Account

His heavy work boots thudded on the hallway floor.

I was waiting in the master bedroom.

The yellow billing notice lay on my nightstand.

I kept the white receipt tucked out of sight in my pocket.

He came in holding a rolled-up trade magazine, his shirt covered in drywall dust.

He looked worn out.

“Is she asleep?” Richard asked.

“She’s resting,” I said.