I didn’t want them seeing me as some lonely, sick old woman. So last Thursday, I put on my church shoes and took the bus to the bank.
When my turn finally came, I handed the card to a young teller and said, “I’d like to withdraw the balance.”
She smiled politely and started typing. Then her expression changed. She paused.
She started typing again, but slower this time. She turned the card over, checked my ID, then looked back at the screen like she thought she had made a mistake.
“Can you confirm your full legal name for me?” she asked carefully. I did.
A strange feeling settled in my stomach. “My ex-husband gave me that card years ago,” I explained.
