When I arrived at the bank, Ms. Reynolds was waiting for me.
She led me into a small, sterile office.
“Thank you for coming in, Lila,” Ms. Reynolds said, folding her hands neatly on the desk. “I know this is a difficult time for you.”
“Just tell me how much he owed,” I blurted out. “I’ll figure out a payment plan, I promise.”
Ms. Reynolds blinked. “He didn’t owe anything, dear. Quite the contrary. Your grandfather was one of the most dedicated savers I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.”
“I don’t understand. We never had money. We struggled to pay the heating bill.”
She leaned forward, and what she told me next made me realize Grandpa had been lying to me for my whole life.
“Lila, your grandfather came in here 18 years ago and set up a very specific, restricted education trust in your name. He made deposits into that account every month.”
The truth hit me like a train.
Grandpa hadn’t been poor; he had been intentionally, methodically, frugal. Every time he said, “We can’t afford that, kiddo,” he was really saying, “I can’t afford that right now because I’m building you a dream.”
