Or perhaps she knew exactly what he would say.
Walt continued.
“The woman you told to get a real job helped keep food in your stomach when I couldn’t.”
Michael’s face drained of color.
“Dad, I didn’t know.”
“No.”
Walt nodded.
“You didn’t.”
Then he leaned back.
“But here’s the part you need to understand.”
His voice became quiet.
“She wouldn’t have needed to feed you forty-three years ago for that note to be cruel.”
Michael stared at him.
“You could’ve written it to a stranger, and it still would’ve been wrong.”
Nobody spoke.
Walt looked down at the two receipts.
“One is from a waitress who earned her living honestly and used what little she had to help a family.”
He placed his finger on the newer one.
“And the other is from a man who earns more money than I ever dreamed of and used a restaurant receipt to make somebody feel worthless.”
