He survived by doing occasional work at a local recycling yard and sleeping near the municipal dump.
“Your mother knew what your father had done for us,” Gabriel continued. “She believed he’d want her to keep helping me.”
I looked away.
Suddenly, Mom’s daily meals made more sense.
She hadn’t been choosing a stranger over her children.
She’d been trying to continue an act of kindness my father had started.
But I was still confused.
“Why would she hide that from me?”
Gabriel touched the old metal box.
“That explains the meals,” he said. “It doesn’t explain what I’ve been keeping for eleven years.”
He removed a small key from his wallet and opened the lid.
Inside were dozens of cassette tapes.
Each one had a handwritten label.
I leaned closer.
My breath caught.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
It belonged to Dad.
The labels read:
