“I asked my son.”
Nobody answered.
Natalie and I had been married thirteen years.
For most of that time, she managed our household finances.
I worked in commercial equipment distribution, coordinating large accounts and managing contracts for agricultural suppliers.
Long hours.
Travel twice a month.
Meetings that began before sunrise during the busy season.
Natalie worked in bookkeeping before we married.
She was excellent with numbers.
Organized.
Careful.
The person who knew exactly when our insurance renewed and which bank offered a better mortgage rate.
Giving her control of the household paperwork had initially seemed practical.
Eventually it became permanent.
I brought home income.
She paid bills.
I signed tax forms.