Margaret poured herself coffee. She sat down. She looked at the dining table she had paid for, the curtains she had ordered, the blender she had bought after Rebecca said “a nice house shouldn’t have old appliances.”

Then she went upstairs to her room. She opened the bottom drawer of her nightstand and pulled out a blue folder.

Inside were all the receipts.

Arthur used to tease her gently. “Maggie, you keep receipts for bread.”

For the first time that day, Margaret smiled. “Thank you, my love,” she whispered.

She took out a notebook and wrote on the first page: Things that belong to me.