I said nothing. I took a photograph of the statement with my personal phone and filed it in a folder I labeled, with some dark humor, Housekeeping. Then I made dinner, and when he came home, I asked about his day, listened to his answer, and watched his face while he gave it. He was very, very good, I’ll admit. But I was better.
The name came from an email. I hadn’t touched his personal account, but a forwarded confirmation from a restaurant reservation came on our shared calendar before he could delete it. Table for two at The Meridian on a Thursday when he’d told me he was in Cleveland. The reservation was for G. Harmon. Gary’s middle name was Harold.