At sixty-five, Sarah Carter stood outside the neighborhood bank with a worn envelope tucked inside her handbag. Hidden within it was a bank card she had carried for years without ever using. Her former husband, Richard, had handed it to her the day they quietly ended their thirty-seven-year marriage. He had told her it would help her adjust to life on her own, but Sarah could never bring herself to depend on something connected to a chapter she was determined to leave behind. Instead, she rented a modest apartment, worked long days cleaning offices and homes, and politely declined every offer of financial help from her children. The unused card slowly became less of a practical tool and more of a reminder of promises, regrets, and unanswered questions.<\/p>\n
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