I sat beside him.
“Can’t her parents replace it?”
“They’ve got so many medical bills. They can’t afford the kind she needs.”
I looked toward the empty guitar stand.
“So you decided to sell your guitar?”
He nodded.
“Somebody had to help her.”
“Why didn’t you tell me first?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I thought you’d suggest collecting donations, but Maya needed help immediately. I’m sorry, Mom.”
I wrapped my arms around him.
Part of me wished he’d spoken to me before giving away something so valuable.
But I couldn’t ignore the kindness behind his decision.
“I’m proud that you wanted to help,” I said. “But next time, we’ll figure something out together.”
Then I asked whether selling the guitar had provided enough money.
“Not all of it,” he admitted.
He opened his drawer and showed me the container where he’d kept his savings.
