The stack of thirty-six paper bank receipts lay next to the keyboard, held by a thick rubber band I’d taken off Sarah’s desk two days earlier.

I slid off the rubber band and laid the receipts out in four neat columns across the glass.

The ink on the oldest receipt, from three years back, was already yellowing at the edges, stamped by Fiona at the suburban drive-up teller window.

Every slip recorded the same transaction: three thousand dollars taken out of my main checking account and deposited into the joint household account.

I opened my scanning app and took a sharp photo of the first receipt, naming the file with its exact date and dollar amount.