My grandson secretly gave me a walkie-talkie for our bedtime chats — one night, it ended up revealing a conversation I wasn’t meant to hear.

I sent the money, month after month. No exceptions. Because Max deserved the best, even if it meant skipping meals or working extra shifts.

Then last Wednesday happened.

After a ten-hour shift, I collapsed into my recliner, exhausted and aching. I closed my eyes.

Static crackled from the walkie-talkie.

“Hey Daddy, are you there?” Max’s sleepy voice floated through.

I smiled.

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