“What does it feel like to be completely useless?”…

But a month later, there was something else. The rent on the boutique space had gone up. Then it was a credit card bill that Iris had, in her words, “completely forgotten about” while planning a lavish birthday party for a friend.

Then came the deposit for my grandson’s private school, a sum that was, of course, due immediately. Each request was delivered with a quiet urgency, a soft panic that came wrapped in phrases like, “We’d never ask if it wasn’t serious,” and, “We’ll pay you back as soon as things stabilize.” Each time, the same silent expectation simmered underneath: I would, as always, make it right. I started keeping a record.

At first, it was just a habit, the accountant in me finding comfort in order and numbers. Old training, old instincts. With a mug of tea beside me and my reading glasses perched on my nose, I opened a spreadsheet on my computer, hidden away in a password-protected folder.

I logged the dates, the amounts, and the reasons they gave. Mortgage. Boutique rent.