Our joint savings.
He had complained once.
“Your sister’s kids get more than your husband?”
I thought he was joking.
“Mom’s money stays in her bloodline.”
“I’m your family.”
“Yes.”
“Apparently not enough.”
We argued.
Then forgot about it.
Or I forgot about it.
Daniel didn’t.
After I was diagnosed, he began bringing documents home.
“Estate planning.”
“Emergency planning.”
“Just in case.”
Most were reasonable.
Advance directive.
Medical information.
Emergency contacts.
Then one afternoon, about ten days after surgery, he placed a thick document beside me.
“What’s this?”
“Durable power of attorney.”
“I already have one.”
“From years ago.”
“My sister is my agent.”
He frowned.
“You’d rather Laura make decisions than your husband?”
“It was written before we married.”
“So update it.”
I was tired.
In pain.
“Not today.”
He became angry.
Not explosive.
Cold.
“Everything with you is not today.”
I pushed the papers away.
