I folded the Oak Creek Bank statement into tight thirds and pushed it down into the bottom pocket of my purse.

The kitchen clock said just after seven.

Richard was already heading out to his truck, his heavy boots thudding on the asphalt of the driveway.

I didn’t follow him out.

I stood perfectly still beside the counter.

I waited until the sound of his diesel engine faded down the street, and then I picked up my car keys.

By ten, I was standing at the front desk of the Vance Clinic.

The waiting room was empty and smelled strongly of hospital sanitizer.