Allison looked at her hands. The wedding ring caught the light and threw a small bright accusation onto the coffee table.
"Cedar Ridge called me three weeks ago," she began. "Not about cancellation. About money. Your mother's private suite — the one with the garden view she wanted — costs four thousand two hundred a month. The shared rooms cost twenty-eight hundred. The facility said her account was in arrears. Two months. They said if we didn't bring the balance current, they would move her to a shared room or begin discharge proceedings under their contract."
Daniel blinked. "In arrears. Mom's Social Security and Dad's pension cover—"
"They cover a shared room," Allison said. "They do not cover the private suite. For the past fourteen months, the difference has been coming out of our joint savings. I authorized the automatic transfers when she moved in. You were in Chicago on that work trip. You said handle it. I handled it."
"I didn't know it was draining us."
"You didn't ask." Allison's voice stayed level, which somehow made it worse. "I didn't tell you because you had just taken the promotion and the kids needed braces and the roof needed repair after the storm last spring and every time I tried to bring up money you looked at me like I was the weather forecast you didn't want to hear. So I paid. And then I paid again. And then last month I looked at the account and realized we had eight thousand dollars left in emergency savings and a property tax bill due in November and Emma's orthodontist wanting the second payment and I—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I called Cedar Ridge. I asked what our options were. They said we could downgrade her to a shared room, which would bring the monthly cost within her income, or we could cancel the residency and take her home, or we could bring the account current and continue as before."