I was not gentle. I was not proud. I was only an exhausted widow staring at one more empty place where my husband used to exist.
“Eli, that was from your dad.”
“I know.”
“Then why would you give it away?”
“There was a lady at the bus stop,” he said quickly. “She was pregnant, Mom. Really pregnant. She was crying, and her coat was soaked, and nobody was helping her.”
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I could only stare at him.
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“So you gave her your jacket too?”
He glanced down at his damp shirt. “She was cold, too. And she had to worry about herself and the baby. If I got sick, you’d make me soup, and I’d be fine.”
I lifted my fingers to my mouth. How was I supposed to stay angry?
“Eli…”
“I didn’t want to lose