Ate dinner at a little restaurant where the waiter recommended more food than either of us could finish.
Daniel took photographs of everything.
Buildings.
Cats.
Coffee cups.
Me standing beside a stone wall.
Me laughing at him because he couldn’t pronounce the name of a pastry.
On the third morning, I woke before him.
I stepped onto the hotel balcony with a cup of coffee.
The city was beginning to stir below.
I opened my phone.
There were messages from Mom.
I hadn’t looked at them during the flight.
The first accused me of turning the family against Khloe.
The second asked whether I was really going to stop paying the insurance.
The third was different.
*I hope you’re enjoying Greece. Your sister cried all weekend.*
I stared at it.
Then I put the phone down.
I thought about calling her.
I almost did.
Instead, I opened the spreadsheet I’d made before the wedding.
The numbers were still there.
Forty-one thousand, seven hundred and sixty dollars.
Eighteen months.
I couldn’t change what I’d spent.
Some of that money had paid for genuine needs.
Dad’s dental treatment had been necessary.
The furnace had needed replacing.
The insurance bills were real.
