In the back of the Uber, I opened the full statement for the card. It had been used for months, and never by me. Dozens of small charges ran down the page, but one stood out: a $9,000 retainer paid to a law firm called Pryce & Doyle, dated three weeks before our wedding.

I called the number printed beside the charge. The receptionist said they had a file under my name, and my husband had an appointment there on Monday. Before I could ask more, my phone rang. It was Rosemary. “Don’t you dare cancel that card,” she hissed, “or those papers you signed in the church vestry will be worthless.” My blood turned cold, because I had signed an entire stack of forms in that tiny room, without reading one.