And now I’m sitting at my kitchen table with a stack of government forms, and a fraud case number, and $840 a month.

I keep the claim file in my kitchen drawer. I don’t know why.

I pull it out sometimes and just look at the signature. That looped G. That little tail on the d.

Fifteen years of birthday cards in that same handwriting. “Love, Gerald.”

I guess he loved me enough to remember my Social Security number.