I stared at her.
"That's impossible," I murmured. "We never had any money. We struggled to pay the heating bills."
She gave me a knowing look.
"He was extremely frugal with his personal expenses, but he never missed a payment."
The room seemed to be tilting.
Every time he said, "We can't afford it, darling," he didn't mean we were poor. He meant he was making a choice.
I value my future more than new jeans. More than holidays. More than comfort.
Mrs. Caldwell opened a drawer and took out a sealed envelope.
"He asked me to give it to you when the time is right," she said softly. "He wrote it a few months ago."
My hands were trembling as I opened it.
When I finished reading his letter, I had tears in my eyes.
I clutched the pages to my chest and sobbed in that silent office.
He hadn't lied to hurt me. He was protecting something more important than the two of us at that moment.
"How much?" I finally managed to ask.
Ms. Caldwell told me the amount.
That was more than enough.
Full tuition fees. Accommodation. Books. A modest but comfortable allowance.
As I left that bank, I felt as if the ground was giving way beneath my feet. Not in a frightening way, but in a way that made way for something new.
