That was why, after my birthday, I told no one what I had discovered beneath the silver coating of that ticket.
The following Monday, I went out by myself. I drove downtown and met with an attorney named Richard Sterling. I placed the ticket on his desk.
He stared at it for several seconds.
Then he looked at me.
“Does anyone else know?”
“No.”
“Then don’t say a word just yet.”
For the next few months, nothing about my routine appeared to change. I continued making dinner, clipping coupons, folding towels, and smiling whenever Jessica spoke to me like an employee who should be grateful simply for having a roof over her head.
But something inside me was different.
For the first time since Arthur died, I began making plans that did not depend on Colin.
Then, two weeks before December, my son made the decision I had been delaying for months.
During dinner, he placed his fork down on his plate.
“Mom, Jessica and I have been talking.”
Jessica gave me that same tense, familiar smile.
Colin pushed a glossy brochure across the table toward me.
*Oakridge Estates.*
On the cover, a white-haired couple was playing pickleball.
“We went to check it out,” Jessica said. “We think you’re going to love it.”
I looked up.
