I wrote the date at the top of the page.
My hand trembled a little from the medication, but the numbers were readable.
Then I wrote the first line.
Mortgage statement.
Then the second.
County property tax notice.
Then the third.
Homeowners insurance.
Ryan stopped beside the table.
Cassie came into the kitchen and stood near the counter.
Her face had changed.
Not much.
Just enough.
People who are used to managing you do not fear anger.
They fear documentation.
I wrote utilities.
I wrote groceries.
I wrote garage tools.
I wrote master bedroom contents.
Ryan gave a short laugh.
“Dad, come on. This isn’t necessary. You’re upset.”
“No,” I said. “I was upset when I saw your mother’s photograph sitting in a storage room. This is necessary.”
Cassie crossed her arms again, but the movement was not as clean as before.
“You can’t just kick out family because you’re
