He could use the phone with one hand, but it would be painfully slow. Not to mention he didn't have his reading glasses.
Dad finally gave up and instructed me, "Transfer 5,000 dollars to someone named Doris Bryant."
A cold glint flashed in my eyes. He'd just been rescued, and he was already itching to send money to his mistress.
It was true love, indeed.
"Who's this person? Why so much money?" I asked casually while operating the phone.
Dad hesitated briefly but quickly came up with an excuse. "I asked someone to buy me some cigarettes. Stop asking so many questions."
And just like that, I learned my dad's payment password.
But I didn't transfer the money to his mistress. I sent it to myself instead.
Consider it compensation for my emotional distress.
I couldn't wait to see his reaction when he found out.
It wasn't until he'd been discharged and home for a while that my dad discovered I'd transferred the money to myself.
That day, I came home to find a crowd of neighbors gathered around my paralyzed father. He was slapping his thigh and pouring out his woes.