“Several of your medical expenses and school programs when you were a child were funded by William’s foundation.”
I could hardly process what I was hearing.
But the biggest surprise was still ahead.
In the letter, William explained that when he first hired me, he hadn’t recognized me.
A few weeks later, he happened to notice the address of my former group home and my last name among some of my documents.
That was when he realized I had been one of the children he had anonymously helped years earlier.
“I could have simply given you money,” William had written.
“But you never would have accepted it.
I realized that the day I offered to advance you money for Sophie’s medication, and you insisted that you would repay every cent.
You never asked me for a car, jewelry, or money.
Not even after we were married.
When I offered to buy you a new car, you chose a used one.
When I wanted to buy you an expensive dress, you told me Sophie’s school expenses mattered more.
That was when I understood that, in the beginning, you had married me because you were afraid.
Afraid your daughter would have no home.
But then, one day, everything changed.”
I swallowed hard, trying to hold back my tears.
I remembered that day.
After a fall on the stairs, William could no longer walk on his own.
The doctors recommended hiring a full-time caregiver.
But I refused to leave him in someone else’s hands.
Every morning, I helped him get dressed.
In the evenings, I pushed his wheelchair through the garden.
When he couldn’t sleep, we sat in the kitchen drinking tea until sunrise.
I wasn’t staying beside him because of the house anymore.
I stayed because I loved him.
