The Empty Plate
The mortgage on Theresa’s house was thirty-two hundred dollars a month, and I paid it.
The utilities and upkeep ran about a thousand a month, and I paid those.
Daniel’s credit card, which was somehow always maxed out, cost between eighteen hundred and twenty-five hundred dollars every single month, and I paid that too.
When Theresa had needed unexpected surgery, I had covered the hospital bill.
When Aaron, Daniel’s older brother, had lost his job, I had covered two months of his car payments.
I had done all of it, uncomplainingly, for years, because my husband kept repeating the same sentence, like a spell.