There were three twenty-dollar bills inside.
And a faded note in Robert’s handwriting.
ITALY FIRST.
I sat on the kitchen floor and cried for nearly an hour.
Because I realized something terrible.
We had spent our whole marriage preparing for a life we never actually reached.
After Robert died, my children became my world.
At first, I didn’t mind.
Karen needed help with her boys.
David was struggling financially.
Melissa was working long hours.
Eric lived farther away but still called whenever something went wrong.
I became the person everyone contacted.
I picked up sick grandchildren from school.
I cooked meals.
I attended parent meetings.
I watched babies.
I drove people to airports.
I paid bills when someone was short.
I loaned money that rarely came back.
And whenever somebody thanked me, I said the same thing.
“That’s what family is for.”
I believed it.
Until one Tuesday morning.
I was standing in my kitchen looking at my calendar.
Almost every square was filled.
Soccer tournament.
Doctor appointment.
Babysitting.
Grocery shopping.
Bank appointment.
Birthday party.
A reminder to transfer money to David.
I stared at that calendar for a long time.
Then I noticed something.
There wasn’t a single thing written there for me.
