The Wheelchair Has a Price, But True Love Never Does
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Summary
After I was discharged from the hospital, I gave my motorized wheelchair to my elderly parents.
That very night, Jordan looked up the official retail price of that exact model.
"Eight hundred dollars." His tone was so flat it bordered on clinical. "If your folks like it so much, they can just give us six hundred. Consider it a second-hand discount."
My father was still in the kitchen fixing a leaky faucet. My mother, her posture hunched from years of hard work, immediately fumbled in her pockets for her phone.
"Sure, sure thing."
I grabbed her wrist in absolute shock.
