I sat there on the floor, dirt on my hands, the plant tipped over beside me, and I broke down in tears so deep they stole my breath. I had no idea those coins existed. No idea she’d been saving them—hiding them—protecting them.
She could have used that money. She could have made her last days more comfortable. She could have asked for better care, better food, maybe even stayed home a little longer.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she chose my children. Their future. Even after I had taken her home away, even after I had been cold and selfish and practical to the point of cruelty.
