was a card.
It was empty.
“For the house,” she said, patting my hand. “You’re the one who made it out.”
She said it warmly, almost casually, like passing down a family recipe.
Nobody at the table reacted.
Dad stared into his coffee.
Danny looked at the cake.
I laughed because I thought I understood.
One envelope.
One favor.
The least I could do.
New nurses made decent money. Their furnace was old. I had made it out.
So I filled the envelope from my first paycheck and mailed it
