He holds up the envelope. “This is fifty thousand dollars. Everything I have liquid access to right now. For medical bills, or whatever you need.”
I don’t reach for it.
“I don’t want your money,” I say.
His shoulders slump. “Then what do you want?”
I consider the question carefully. “I want you to be better. Keep funding those scholarships. Look at every older person you meet and remember how you treated me. Then do better.”
Tears stream down his face. “I will. I promise.”
“You can’t undo what happened,” I tell him. “You can only move forward. And you have to do that without me in your life.”
“I know I lost you,” he whispers. “I just needed you to know I’m sorry.”
“I believe you,” I say. “But love without respect isn’t enough. Love without care becomes harm. I won’t accept that from anyone anymore. Not even you.”
