I drove home with the envelope on the passenger seat like it might vanish if I blinked. Lydia was in the kitchen making school lunches. When she saw my face, she set down the knife. I handed her the note and check. Her hand went to her mouth, then to my shoulder. “You have to go,” she said. “And Ross—I’m proud of you. You didn’t do it to get anything back. That’s exactly why it matters.”Continue reading…
