That night, while he slept heavily beside me, I examined every document.

Sixty-three thousand dollars of credit card debt.

A second mortgage.

A loan taken against Clara’s life insurance while she was still ill.

I held a hand over my mouth to keep from waking him.

Then I began planning.

—

The following morning, I cooked pancakes.

“You’re being awfully sweet,” Michael said, studying me over his fork.

“I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should combine our accounts. It’s silly, keeping everything separate now.”

His eyes brightened so quickly that nausea rose in my throat.

“That’s exactly what I was going to suggest,” he said. “Clara and I had everything shared. It just feels right.”

“Clara left me some investments,” I added in a casual tone. “The lawyer mentioned them last month. Nothing huge. Maybe forty thousand.”

It was a lie.

But I needed to watch his reaction.

He chewed slowly, smiling.

“Well,” he said. “We can put that toward the house. Make it ours.”

There it was.

—

Over the next two days, I made phone calls whenever Michael was away.

Every debt listed by Clara was real.

Then I contacted the elderly lawyer.

“She wanted you to have options,” the lawyer told me over the phone. “Not just proof. Witnesses too.”

“Can you come to a dinner Sunday evening?” I asked.

“I already cleared my schedule,” he said. “Your sister anticipated this.”

Naturally, she had.

Next, I called my  children.