I looked at him and remembered everything about his sacrifices, the nights he stayed up worrying, the mornings he walked me to school through the rain. Then I said softly, “I can’t. I won’t give you a single cent.”
He just nodded. His eyes filled with pain, but he didn’t protest. He rose quietly, like a beggar turned away.
But before he could leave, I took his hand, knelt, and said, “Dad… you are my real father. How could there be debt between us? You gave me everything. Now it’s my turn to take care of you.”
He broke down crying. I held him tight, weeping too.
From that day, he lived with us. My wife welcomed him warmly, treating him as her own father. Though old, he still helped around the house, and we often traveled together.
People sometimes ask, “Why treat your adoptive father so well when he couldn’t give you much before?”
I always answer, “He paid for my education with his blood and his youth. He may not be my bl00d, but he’s my father in every way that matters.”
Some debts cannot be repaid with money. Gratitude, however, can always be returned with sincerity, love, and time
