“Since the middle of November,” Sylvia declared, her voice rising as she adjusted the heavy leather strap of her handbag on her shoulder.

“Every single week.”

She took a step toward the exam table, going past the stainless steel trash bin and the wall-mounted otoscope.

“Four hundred dollars cash every month to the commercial maid service, plus the organic meal prep delivery every Tuesday afternoon,” Sylvia said.

“Do you honestly think your husband was coming home from his corporate job and scrubbing kitchen tiles after an eight-hour day?”

I glanced down at the leather messenger bag.