date.
“What was this?”
Melissa crossed her arms.
“We were struggling then.”
“Your husband owned a dental clinic.”
“One clinic. And it was barely surviving.”
Then I found another transfer.
$12,500.
Then another.
$27,000.
I grabbed Mom’s notebook again.
Suddenly, all those strange columns of numbers made sense.
Every figure corresponded to money Mom had given Melissa.
I sat on the edge of the bed and started matching the dates.
“Stop,” Melissa said.
I kept going.
One transfer happened around the time her second child was born.
Another
