“To stand up again.”
I stared at him.
“Then why make me write the checks?”
“Because I didn’t want you to feel like a charity case.”
The answer landed harder than I expected.
He pointed at the box.
“You paid your rent every month. You did your part. What happened after that was my decision.”
I wiped my face.
“Nearly $29,000 is not a small decision.”
“No.”
“You could have used that money.”
“I have enough.”
“You wear the same shirt every day.”
“I own seven of them.”
I laughed through my tears.
For the first time, his mouth lifted slightly.
Then he reached into the shoebox and removed a white envelope from beneath the checks.
He slid it across the table.
My name was written on the front.
I opened it.
Inside was a letter from his bank.
It confirmed that the money in my account was mine. Mr. Alvarez had no intention of collecting the checks.
