I swallowed hard, the memory of those final months in the hospital rising in my throat like ash.

“After Michael’s diagnosis, everything happened so fast,” I said. “He was in the intensive care unit for three weeks before he passed.”

“Who handled the bills?” Richard asked.

“Thomas Vale did,” I said. “He came to the hospital almost every day with folders full of documents.”

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Vale told me that Michael’s software company had folded,” I said. “He said Michael had taken out millions of dollars in personal loans to keep the business afloat.”

“Did you see the loan agreements?” Richard asked.

“Only the signature pages,” I said. “Michael was so weak. He could barely keep his eyes open.”

I remembered the smell of rubbing alcohol and the steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor.

“Vale told me that if I didn’t sign the joint liability disclosures, the creditors would sue us immediately,” I said. “He said they would take our house and leave the girls with nothing.”

“So you signed,” Richard said.