There was a recurring charge of eighty-seven dollars on the twelfth of every month, listed under an abbreviation I did not recognize.
I rubbed my gold wedding band with my left thumb, feeling the thin metal warm against my skin. “Mark, what is this eighty-seven dollars for?”
He did not look up from his apple, but his left thumb started to slide against his jean pocket. “Which one?”
“The monthly draft to SRS LLC,” I said, pointing to the printed line near the bottom of the page. “It has been going through every single month since we merged our accounts after the wedding.”
“It is probably just an old insurance premium,” he said, setting the knife down on the board. “Some small policy I set up years ago and forgot to cancel.”
