Fifty dollars. Twenty dollars. Eighty dollars.
Small quantities have been added steadily over the years.
Thousands of dollars in total.
See more on the next page
My throat tightened painfully.
Under the deposit book was a folded birthday card.
My hands were shaking as I opened it.
The writing on the inside was Leo’s.
I know Dad was worried about what would happen to you if he didn’t make it. So I started saving a long time ago. I wanted to take care of you like you both took care of me.
Tears immediately blurred the words.
I slowly sat down on the edge of the bed and continued reading.
Leo explained that he had taken on extra shifts, saved up money for his birthday, left without things he wanted, and silently built a financial cushion for me, after secretly overhearing doctors warning his father that his illness was worsening.
Even his answer the night before suddenly made sense.
You didn’t dismiss my fear.
He had spent years trying to prepare for this.
“I didn’t want to tell you yet, because I knew you would feel guilty if you admitted it,” he wrote. “I thought I’d wait until things got a lot worse.”
By then I was crying so hard I could barely breathe.
Because suddenly everything seemed completely different.
The long walks — extra work shifts.
