Fatherly love in our family has always been subtle, hidden beneath layers of pride and humor. But their love for the younger generation? That’s never been understated.
As my mother returned to the kitchen, I gazed down at my daughter’s peaceful, sleeping face, lost in thought. It was then that my father tiptoed into the room, his movements deliberate and slightly exaggerated, as if enacting a secret mission.
He placed a thick red envelope on the table in front of me with a small smirk.
"Don’t tell your mother," he said in a low voice. "This is your father’s private stash, saved over a lifetime. It’s a money envelope for my precious granddaughter’s first month celebration!"
My father always claimed his private savings were for himself, but in truth, every cent had been spent on me—be it a sports car, a motorcycle, or even real estate and luxury watches.
I accepted the envelope with a quiet smile, but neither of us spoke much after that. He turned his attention to my sleeping daughter, reaching out to tease her tiny fingers.
Before he could succeed, my mother entered with a tray of freshly washed and cut fruit.