A long silence hung in the air, filled with regret and longing.
Finally, he smiled and reached across the table. “Then come with me tomorrow. Let me take you there.”
“I have work Monday,” she said automatically.
“You’re retired now.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
David pulled out a folder from his coat. Inside was paperwork—official-looking, signed and notarized. It included confirmation of her retirement benefits, a generous monthly allowance, and even a schedule for part-time in-home help.
“I wanted to do this for you years ago,” he said. “You don’t need to work another day in your life unless you want to.”
Margaret covered her mouth with her hand, the tears spilling now.
“I didn’t want to burden you,” she whispered.
“You never were a burden. You were my miracle.”
That night, she didn’t fall asleep to old westerns. She stayed up replaying every word, her heart overflowing.
The next morning, they drove to Michigan. David rented a cozy SUV and insisted she sit in the front seat. The drive took a few hours, winding through small towns and snow-lined trees.
