“I’m sorry, Mom.

I’m so sorry.”

“It’s only clean money, honey,” I said, kneeling on the rug to sweep the nearest pile back toward the middle.

“It doesn’t break.”

Irene bent down and picked up the cardboard wrapper box that had been crushed flat under the tub’s plastic handle.

She opened up the cardboard flaps and counted the thin paper sleeves left inside.

“Becky,” Irene said quietly.