On Monday, Dad and I sat in the bank manager’s office. The account was divided, my wages were returned to me, and I opened a new account with only my name attached to it. For the first time in years, I watched my paycheck arrive somewhere nobody else could control. It felt strange, almost frightening, but underneath the fear was relief. I finally had something that belonged completely to me.

That afternoon, my mother-in-law called. Her voice was thin as she admitted she had never known how much money was being sent, only that it kept arriving. I believed part of what she said. My husband apologized twice, first in anger and later through tears. Neither apology was enough, and I told him that without raising my voice. Mr. Okafor prepared the necessary papers, and when they were placed in front of me, I signed them with a steady hand.