Dr. Evans had said my insurance would cover part of it, but not enough. There would be deductibles, hospital fees, medication, and whatever help I needed afterward.
So Thursday, I put on my best church shoes, tucked Walter’s card into my purse, and took the bus to the bank.
My hands shook. Driving felt foolish.
The young teller smiled. “How can I help you?”
I slid the card across the counter. “I’d like to withdraw the balance.”
“Of course.”
“It should be $2,000,” I said. “I need it for medical expenses.”
Her smile softened. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. I’m still upright.”
She typed, then held out her hand. “Can I see your ID?”
I gave it to her.
Her smile faded.
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
“Can you confirm your name?”
“Sylvie.”
“And Walter is…?”
