He looked me in the eyes.

There were tears in his gray eyes, but his jaw was set.

“I am so sorry I let this happen.”

He turned away from the table.

He didn’t look at my mother.

He walked toward the small coat rack by the front door.

“Arthur, wait!” my mother cried.

She scrambled after him, her boots squeaking on the floor.

“We can’t leave it like this.”

“We have to fix this.”

“There is nothing to fix,” my father said.

He pulled his heavy wool coat off the peg.

He put it on, his movements slow and stiff.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I am going to the bank,” he said.

My mother froze in the middle of the hallway.

“The bank?” she asked.

“Why are you going to the bank?”

“To freeze the joint accounts,” my father said.

His voice was completely flat.

“Every penny we have is going into a locked account.”

“You won’t be able to touch it.”

“Megan won’t be able to touch it.”

My mother’s face drained of color.

She looked like she had been struck in the chest.