And the story about the blue coat was completely different from what I remembered.
My father had bought it the following week, but kept it hidden until Christmas. My mother wore that coat for nearly twenty years.
“But why did you keep all of this a secret?” I asked.
My mother looked at us.
When she was young, her own mother had worked all her life but had nothing in her old age. Her husband had died, leaving behind enormous debts, so she had been forced to depend on her children.
My mother was terrified that she would suffer the same fate.
During the first years of their marriage, she had asked my father:
“Take every penny I earn and save it for me. Even when I ask you to spend the money, remind me why we started doing this.”
My father had kept his promise, even though it made everyone think he was greedy and cruel.
Then my mother showed us the final document.
My father had also transferred the house into her name, so it officially belonged to her.
“If I go first,” he said quietly, “you will never have to depend on anyone. Not our children, not our relatives, and not another man. Everything you worked for belongs to you.”
My mother took his hand.
