My husband went pale and sat down slowly. “Kevin,” he said, his voice cracking, “I never meant for you to carry that for six years.” I looked at him. “Carry what, Daniel?” He rubbed his face with both hands. “The day we brought him home, I whispered that I might not always be well, and that if I got sick, he should not feel trapped here.”

Kevin stared at the floor. “You said you had a heart condition,” he whispered. “You said I should be ready to leave if I became a burden.” My husband shook his head, tears sliding down his cheeks. Then the doorbell rang, and a woman in a gray coat stood on the porch holding a thick envelope with Kevin’s name on it.