For 8 Years I Paid for His Family in Secret and Kept Every Receipt — The Day I Finally Opened the Folder, His Mother’s Birthday Fell Apart

Chapter 20 — A Massive Pot of Soup

Six months later, in my bright kitchen in Pasadena, a single sheet of paper hung on the refrigerator door, held up by a blue whale-shaped magnet.

It was a drawing Toby had made in art class — a mother and a son, standing proudly side by side, next to an enormous pot of steaming soup.

“What are we cooking tonight, buddy?” I asked, tying my apron.

Toby considered it with great seriousness.