Alejandro nodded.
“I know that now.”
Then he smiled faintly.
“She’s getting it tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“You already ordered it?”
He nodded.
“I paid the hospital supplier.”
I shook my head.
“You really planned all of this.”
“I tried.”
That night, after Alejandro went to bed, I stood in his doorway for several minutes.
His guitar stand was empty.
His room looked strange without the instrument sitting there.
I realized something that night.
My son hadn’t simply given away an old toy.
He had given up the thing he loved most.
And he had done it quietly.
He hadn’t told his friends.
He hadn’t posted about it.
He hadn’t asked anyone to praise him.
He had simply seen someone struggling and decided that his own happiness could wait.
The next morning, Alejandro woke up before me.
When I entered the kitchen, he was already sitting at the table.
He had made tea.
For me.
“You made breakfast?”
“I tried.”
There was toast.
It was burned.
I smiled.
“This is the worst breakfast I’ve ever seen.”
He laughed.
“Sorry.”
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“Let’s get Elena’s wheelchair.”
His eyes widened.
“You’ll come?”
“Of course.”
His smile was bigger than I had seen in weeks.
