His hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t open it.
I helped him.
Inside the container, wrapped in protective material, was a tiny wooden toy car.
Robert suddenly began sobbing.
“Oh my God… This is mine.”
I stared at him in surprise.
“What car?”
“My father made it for my seventh birthday. I loved that little car so much that I even slept with it in my hands.”
He held the toy against his chest.
But there was something else inside the container.
A small piece of paper, slightly damaged by moisture.
Robert carefully unfolded it.
Written in his father’s handwriting were these words:
“My dear Robert,
When you were little, you used to tell me that one day you would build the biggest car in the world and drive me out of the forest to a big city.
I always laughed.
But now I understand that you have your own path to follow.
