A wide, real grin spread across his handsome face, lighting up the whole entryway with bright warmth.

“Even if I never have any money to give you, Mom?” he asked, steering the conversation right back to the wound that had started all of this.

I gently pushed his unruly brown hair back off his forehead, looking straight into his pure, beautiful soul.

“Especially when you don’t have any money, my precious boy,” I whispered.

He glanced back toward the kitchen, though his white envelope was tucked safely in his desk drawer upstairs.

“So the hundred and forty-six dollars really is mine forever?” he checked one last time.