Kenneth’s face reddened.

He pushed a pen toward me.

“Honey, please.

We can explain the details after lunch.”

I looked at the pen.

I thought of every appointment I’d rescheduled for Gertrude, every bill I’d paid to keep our household running, every night I’d waited for Kenneth to come upstairs.

For the first time, I did not feel compelled to defend the goodness of my intentions.

“I’m not signing,” I said.