Thirty-seven Christmas mornings.
Thirty-seven years of sacrifices, struggles, victories, and disappointments.
Or at least that’s what I thought.
When the divorce papers were finalized, Richard didn’t cry.
He didn’t apologize.
He didn’t even look particularly sad.
Instead, he reached into his pocket and handed me a plastic bank card.
« Take this, » he said quietly.
« It should help you for a while. »
That was it.