“What about your mother?”

“She was devastated after my father died. They’d been together since they were seventeen. But she knew she needed to take care of me. So she searched and searched for extra work, eventually getting a job at a store in the next town over. It took her forty-five minutes to walk there each day but she did it. She also took any odd jobs she could find. Babysitting, cleaning houses, selling things she’d made. Whatever she could do to make extra money for us, she did it.”

“She sounds like an amazing woman.”

I felt Deborah smile against my chest. “She was. She and my father always put me first. When I was really young, they would beg, borrow, or steal books they could find to help me learn to read. They always made sure I went to school because they saw it as a way off the mountain, as they used to say. It wasn’t until just before the end of my junior year of high school that my mother revealed the biggest secret she’d kept for years.”

“What was it?” I inquired, intrigued to learn about this obviously remarkable woman.

“After my father’s death, every family member we had started coming around asking my mother what she was going to do with the life insurance money. She told them that they’d never gotten life insurance. A few weeks before the summer after junior year my mother told me the truth. She told me that they had in fact had a policy—albeit a small one, and when she’d received the check, she’d taken it to a bank to open a savings account in my name, depositing it all. For six years it just sat there. My senior year I did a sort of exchange program where I moved in with a family in a wealthier part of Kentucky to go to their high school. There I had access to guidance counselors who walked me through the process of applying to college and for scholarships.

“Once I was accepted to Stanford my mother told me I was going come hell or high water. The money from the insurance policy paid a monthly stipend to the family I stayed with, and was just enough for my plane ticket and incidentals to move to Palo Alto.”

“I bet she’s proud of you.”

Deborah shrugged. “I hope so.” She sat up again, peering down at me. “She died last year of lung cancer. I didn’t even know she was sick. A relative of mine told me she made them promise not to tell me because she didn’t want me going back home for anything.”

I reached up and wiped away the tear that’d landed on her cheek. Swallowing I lifted my head and pressed a kiss to her forehead, pulling her back against my chest. Her silent cries against my chest tore me apart. I’d give anything to make her stop hurting. I didn’t know what it was like to have parents who loved you so much they’d sacrifice their own happiness and well-being, but I was glad she did.