I Became a Private Driver for a Wealthy Widow

She never cried at his grave.

Instead, she spoke softly to him as though he were still sitting beside her.

Over time, she began asking questions.

“How old are your children, Stan?”

“Seven, five, and two.”

“Do they know how hard you work?”

I laughed.

“They mostly know I’m never home.”

A shadow crossed her face.

“It’ll be worth it one day,” she said quietly.