“Why didn’t you tell me?”
That was when Noah looked at me in a way I had never seen before.
“Because every time I wanted to…”
He glanced toward our little Willow Lane house.
“You sold something else.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Your bracelet.”
My heart sank.
“The car.”
I closed my eyes.
“Your schoolbooks.”
Then came the worst one.
“Mom’s piano.”
“I had to sell it, sweetheart.”
“I know.”
His voice was gentle.
“That’s why I got scared.”
“Scared of what?”
Noah looked at the ring in my hand.
“That if I gave you the last thing we still had from Mom…”
His eyes filled.
“You’d eventually have to sell that too.”
That was when I broke.
“YOU NEVER KEPT ANYTHING FOR YOURSELF.”
I wrapped my arms around Noah.
For one moment, he was not eighteen.
