That included the woman he left me for.
The day he walked out, he packed two leather suitcases and set them by the front door like he was leaving for a business trip, not breaking apart half a century.
My doctor told me my heart needed surgery.
I was sitting at the kitchen table with my chipped blue teacup between my hands when Walter placed the card beside it.
“There’s $2,000 in there, Sylvie,” he said.
I stared at the card. “For what?”
“Emergencies.”