“Did your father know about those bank statements?” I asked, thinking of Richard sitting quietly in the recliner while Linda ran the house.

“My father never looks at the mail,” Ethan said.

“He turns up the TV and lets her handle every bill that comes through the front door.”

“Will Richard ever stand up to her when things get worse?” I asked out loud, looking straight at my husband.

Ethan shifted his weight from one foot to the other on the carpet and didn’t answer.

I smoothed the bank statements against my knee, feeling the rough edge of the paper under my fingertips.