Her husband hander her a bank card after our fifty-year marriage. It took her five years to realize what a surprise she was given.
Sylvie didn’t use it for the first five years.
The day Walter walked away from the couple’s golden wedding anniversary, he simply dumped the card on the table in the kitchen. He told her there were $2,000 on it just in case, packed his things, got into another woman’s car, and that was that. Sylvie stuffed it in an old cookie tin hanging above the stove and hoped never to see it again.
Well, she had enough other things to think about. At seventy-four, she had to learn how to be on her own. She made every penny stretch, fixed all her own plumbing, and wouldn’t ask anyone for a hand in anything. Her three children called daily, but she always told them the same thing: “I’m fine, don’t you bother with me.”
But she was far from fine. Her health was deteriorating.
During a regular doctor’s visit, she got shocked to know that her heart valve disease had aggravated and she needed to undergo a surgery within the next few weeks. Driving back home, the reality hit back with her. She literally stopped her car, and started thinking of Walter’s car, but she still couldn’t force herself to use it.
As the day of the surgery got closer, she found herself exhausted and struggling to pretend to be fine. Then, she heard some gossip at church that felt like a slap in the face: Walter was being honored at a local gala for his “contributions to family and community.”
How ironic that was! It was Sylvie who had held the family together in all these years, planned the budgets and remembered every single birthday. And now, it was him who was getting a trophy for it.
After a couple of days, with mounting bills, she decided to swallow her pride. She couldn’t drive because her hands were trembling, and she rode a bus to the bank in order to take the money.
When she put the card before the teller, the lady was confused, and then concerned, calling the manager.
Sylvie got concerned. “Did he cancel it?” she wondered.
