My father’s face went pale.
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“The pharmacy said there was some assistance program.”
“That was me,” Emily said.
My mother covered her mouth.
I stared at my wife.
Years earlier, when we first married, Emily had struggled to find steady work.
People often underestimated her.
So she
started a small bookkeeping business from our apartment.
One client became five.
Five became twenty.
Eventually, she built a company that handled accounts for dozens of local businesses.
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She had worked quietly, saved carefully, and become more successful than either of my parents ever realized.
But she never bragged about it.
My father looked at her for a long time.
“Why?”
Emily didn’t pretend not to understand.
“Why would you help us after what we did to you?”
She folded her hands.
“Because if I helped you only because you were kind to me, that wouldn’t say much about who I am.”
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