I cried in my husband’s arms at the airport as he boarded what he claimed was a two-year work assignment in Zurich

I thought of him taking that folder from the safe with hands that had once held mine in hospital waiting rooms and hotel balconies and quiet kitchens.

A strange grief rose in me then, different from rage.

It was not grief for losing him.

It was grief for realizing I had not known the person who lived beside me.

“Anne?” Grace said.

“I’m here.”

“You need a lawyer before you touch the money.”

I laughed under my breath. “That sounds suspiciously sensible for a stranger who just admitted to watching my house.”

“I know how this sounds.”

“No, I’m not sure you do.”

“I’m trying to help my sister,” she said. “And maybe you, too.”

“Why?”