« Caleb. What is going on? »
« I sold it. »
The basket slipped right out of my hands and hit the carpet.
« You did *what*? »
« I sold the guitar, Mom. » He said it fast, like ripping off a bandage. « I know it was expensive. I know you and Dad saved up for it. But I had to. »
I sat down hard on the edge of his bed, because my legs didn’t feel like they belonged to me anymore.
« Why, » I said slowly, « would you do that? That guitar was everything to you. »
« It was, » he admitted. « But Sophie needed a wheelchair more than I needed a guitar. »
I just stared at him. My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
He kept going, words tumbling over each other now that the truth was finally loose. « Her old chair is falling apart, Mom. The wheels stick every time she turns. Last week she missed lunch twice because it took her so long to get down the hall. She never says anything about it, but I’ve watched her struggle every single day. »
