She works the night shift here still. Sometimes we talk, but mostly we just sit in the quiet. I watch her take care of him, and I think about that nineteen-year-old girl in the Waffle House.

I think about the money I left behind and how I thought it was just a mistake. It wasn’t a mistake, was it? It was a bridge.

I don’t know what happens tomorrow. My husband is getting worse, and the house feels like it’s shrinking every single day. I find myself looking at her when she comes into the room, wondering if she knows that seeing her is the only thing keeping me upright. She never mentions the money again. She just does her job, a quiet ghost in the hallway, moving through the dark.

I think about that twenty-dollar bill, or what I thought was twenty. It’s funny how much a person can carry around without even knowing they’re holding it. I’m still here, still waiting for the next shift, still wondering what else I left behind that I never even noticed. The door to the room is cracked open. I can hear the hum of the hallway lights. I think I’ll just sit here for a while longer and watch the shadows move across the floor.

I don’t need to know the rest. I think I finally understand that some things are meant to be left on the table.