For 25 Years, My Stepfather Broke His Back Mixing Cement to Fund My Doctorate.

It was his only means of transport, his work tool, his daily sustenance.

She sold it without warning, gathered the money with my grandmother’s meager savings, and put it in my hands.

“Pay the tuition,” he said, without drama, as if handing over something worthless.

He came to visit me in the city wearing a worn-out cap and carrying a bag full of food brought from home.

Before leaving, he held me by the shoulder with a strength I still remember.

“Son, just study, do your best,” he told me.

Inside the lunchbox I found a crumpled note, written in crooked letters by tired hands.

“I don’t understand what you’re studying, but I’ll break my back to pay for it,” he said.

The years passed like a storm.

The bachelor’s degree, the postgraduate degree, and finally the doctorate were conquered one by one.

Meanwhile, Hector’s back was becoming more and more curved, and his hands were becoming rough like dry bark.

I asked him to rest, to quit his job, but he just smiled proudly.

“I’m studying for a doctorate with you, that’s enough for me,” he replied.