The opposite of definite

This is Wealth

Disclaimer: The plot idea and some of the quotations do NOT belong to me. They are from a video that I found online.

Enjoy! :) Please do VOTE if you like it.

It was nearly ten o' clock, and I heard the footsteps as my father walked up the stairs into the little room we call a house. Smiling at me apologetically, he put down his nearly-unusable sling bag on the floor and handed me a crumpled paper bag.

I opened it to find a ham and cheese sandwich. Guess what? This is what we're eating for dinner. WE.

"Cut it in half, and leave the half for me, okay?"

I nodded glumly at him. He worked from early morning 'til late at night, and I must admit he worked very, very, hard, compared to the other dads of my schoolmates. Yet compared to them, we were poor. He always wore a clown costume when he got home, although I knew he worked in the pier in the morning, shipping goods from the big barkos to the small bangkas every single time.

"This never would have happened if mom never left us."

He gave me a frown and put his hand on my shoulder.  He sat down and gave me a few money bills.

"That will be your pocket money. Don't complain. This is all we have, and we should be thankful."

"Thankful for what exactly, dad? For our poverty? For our little, old, broken house? For whar?"

"For our wealth. For having a house. For still being together."

"Dad... why are we not rich?"

"We are rich, honey. Wealth does not come from what you have, but from what you give."

With that, he took one of the bills he gave as my "pocket money" and put it in the water bottle we used as a piggy bank.

"But-"

"Eat up now."

I nodded glumly, once again, and quickly after ran to the corner I have a sleeping mat on, and drifted off to a place I can actually be happy. To my dreams.

I don't like my dad.

I don't want to be like him. I want to be successful. Business, Wealth, Happiness. That's what I want.  And I realize, if I don't work hard for what I want... Never can I ever have it.

Ten years after the time I realized that, I received a scholarship to a university, far away from the "house" I grew up in.  My dad was saddened by my departure, but I knew he was sincerely happy for me as he had his signature soft smile on his face.

"Call me when you're going back home."

"I won't." I murmured as he was out of earshot.

I graduated, grew successful, took over a good business, had a family.  My father called occasionally to check up on me, and if I was planning to visit every year.  But I always said I was too busy.

Four years passed and I hadn't received a single call from him.

I flew back to my hometown, and I saw a bunch of letters addressed to me on the front porch of my old home.  It was from Linking Hands, the orphanage a few towns away from here.

Quickly, I drove there only to find their manager, a man in a wheelchair. He smiled and recognized me immediately.

"Mr. Salazar. Thank you for all the donations you've been giving the foundation."

"I never donated."

He smiled, once again, knowingly.

"It was your father. He donated to us every month, knowing that the children here were... in need of it.  He never stopped coming here until seven years ago, but I remember very well that fifteen years before, your father helped a very depressed young boy.  He came here every day after his work to cheer up the boy, he read to him every time.  He handed him a book. Entitled... HOPE."

I nodded, since the title was very familiar to me.

He continued, "He never wanted anyone to know he had cancer. Not even his only son."

"I... I never even asked him... But the donations, they were-"

"Named after you. Yes."

I understood everything now. He wanted to help the people who were less fortunate than we already were back then.  He wanted someone else to be wealthy, yet he still provided for me like he wasn't already exhausting his resources on something else.

"Your father, he was very selfless."

I nodded in agreement, and I noticed the manager wheel himself near the bookshelf and take out a small, apparently old book. He looked at it with great admiration, and faced the dusty cover to me. On it was the word... HOPE.