For 38 years, my husband went to the bank every Tuesday without fail. After he passed, I opened his safe, found a letter, and learned why—and what I read changed my life forever

For thirty-eight years, my husband went to the bank every single Tuesday. Rain or sunshine. Illness or exhaustion. Even when we traveled, he always arranged things so we’d be home by Monday night.
I used to tease him.
“You’re more faithful to that bank than you are to me, Javier.”

He would smile, kiss my forehead, and answer gently,
“Some …