The Things He Never Asked For
Over the years, pieces of Eli’s life slipped out.
Never all at once.
One Christmas, he told us about a little sister.
They’d aged out of foster care together.
A car accident took her.
My mom didn’t pry.
She just listened.
That year, she added gloves and thick socks.
The next year, a grocery gift card.
Once, she offered to help him find a room.
He flinched.
“I’d rather freeze than owe anyone.”
She nodded.
“Okay. But dinner still stands.”
I moved out. Built a life. Then cancer took my mom fast.
We didn’t get one last Christmas.
By December, I was just surviving.
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