My husband passed away after 62 years of marriage. At his funeral, a young girl approached me, handed me an envelope, and said, "He asked me to give this to you today."

He knew. He knew exactly what I would find there, and exactly what he was asking me to do.

I shook Gini's hand.

"I'll be back in two days," I told her and the doctor.

***

I came back with the money for the operation.

Harold and I had always been thrifty, and what I spent was what we had saved together. Using that money felt less like a decision and more like completing a project initiated by Harold.

The operation lasted six hours. Everything went well.

He knew exactly what I would find there.

When Gini's mother was strong enough to sit up and receive visitors, I went into her room and introduced myself as Rosa, Harold's wife.

She stared at me for a long time. Then her face fell. "Your husband saved us," she said. "My daughter and I wouldn't be here without him."

I held her hand and didn't say much, because a question was still nagging at me.

Harold had carried these people in his arms all his life. He had loved me faithfully for 62 years. And he had never breathed a word of it.

For what?

There was one question that I couldn't resolve.