That evening, he placed the slip on the table between them. “Where did this come from?” Sarah glanced at it, her expression tightening. “A refund. Insurance.” She stood quickly, clearing plates before he could press further. Her voice was light, but the strain in it betrayed her.
Later, Emily skipped into the room carrying a small piggy bank. “He put money in here for me too,” she said proudly, shaking it so coins rattled. Michael forced a smile, but inside, his stomach clenched. Someone was not only helping Sarah—they were leaving gifts for his daughter.