That’s the one I can’t forgive, and I want to be very specific about who I can’t forgive for it. The insurance money was a crime and the money I sent was theft and the thing with Emma was cruelty.
But my wife died with her hand on a box of wood ash, and two people who loved her let her do it for a hundred and eighty-one days, and one of them was her own daughter.
The Part That’s Mine, and There Are Five Pieces of It
People have been awfully good to me about this story. I’ve had letters. A man in Oregon sent me a check that I sent back. Somebody at my church called me a hero from the pulpit and I had to go sit in my truck.
Here’s the rest of it.
One: I sent two hundred and eighty thousand dollars over seven years and never asked for a single receipt.
