Then he touched the little brass bell.
“Bug, I didn’t spend 11 years helping you go places just to keep you here.”
I cried again.
So did he.
Before bed, I opened the secret compartment beneath my wheelchair.
Eleven birthday notes lay inside.
Every single one.
Dad stared.
“You kept them?”
“Of course.”
I handed him a new note.
He unfolded it.
“Dad, you taught me that I could go anywhere. I hope you know I’ll always have a home wherever you are.”
He hugged me.
Then he picked up the photograph of the garage and turned it over.
His thumb rested on the word “Someday.”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Will you come open up with me?”
Enjoyed the read? Here is another story you will love: My husband had spent years insisting there was one thing about himself he wished he could change. I paid to help him change it, but I had no idea the real reason went back much further than our marriage.
