I sat with the receipt flat on the steering wheel and looked at the zero balance, then at the date I had written on the back, then at the version of my signature on the withdrawal slip with no dot on the i and no loop on the f.

And I understood that the money hadn’t been taken all at once.

It had been taken slowly, piece by piece, starting three weeks before anyone booked a cruise and six weeks before Derek ever said the words he said when he promised to watch our daughter.

The bank envelope tore along the gummed flap as I forced the paper deep into my pocket.

The wall clock over the pediatric nurses’ station read 1638 when I got through the double security doors.