My fingers froze.
Buried beneath balls of blue and gray yarn was a thick stack of envelopes.
Each envelope had a date written on it.
January.
February.
March.
April.
Every month for an entire year.
I carefully opened one.
Inside was the check I had written.
Uncashed.
My heart started pounding.
I grabbed another envelope.
The same thing.
Another.
Same.
All twelve checks were there, untouched.
More than $30,000.
My hands trembled as I stared at them.
Nothing made sense.
The nurse had said Mom lived there for free.
