The week of the wedding in Tucson, when Gloria told my mother I was married to my job.

Every one of those payments had left my account on a Monday and arrived in that credit union on a Tuesday.

Thirty-six Mondays.

Twelve dollars apiece.

I underlined the final line twice and texted David at seven forty on a Saturday, something I’d never done once in the six years we’d worked together.

He replied at nine with two words and a time.

At nine on Monday I put the folder on the near edge of David’s desk and stayed standing.