“There was never any four hundred thousand dollars.”

“No.”

“You made it up in the backyard. Standing there. With me on the ground.”

“Yes.”

I hadn’t planned to be angry. I genuinely hadn’t. It arrived out of nowhere, from underneath, the way it does.

“Then it wasn’t ours,” I said. “None of it. Not one day of it. I have been planting tomatoes for a year in a yard we got by—”