I THOUGHT MY HUSBAND WAS AN ACCOUNTANT. THEN I OPENED THE BOX HE KEPT AT THE BANK. For 38 years, my husband Bob left the house every Tuesday at 2:00 p.m. sharp. He’d put on his tie, grab an old leather folder, and kiss my cheek. His line was always the same. “Just keeping our future secure, Maggie.” I never questioned it. He was a man made of ledgers and neat lines. Our life was safe. Steady. He collapsed at work. The doctor said it was fast. A clean break, just how Bob would have wanted it. A w