Not our money.

Mine.

I’d laughed and said something about joint accounts and how Beau handled the investments, and Rutger had looked out at the yard for a while and then said, “A woman should always be able to leave a room she doesn’t want to be in.

That takes money she doesn’t have to ask for.” I’d thought it was an old man’s fussiness, a relic of a harder generation.

I’d changed the subject.