Ethan stood, smoothing his shirt. “She reminded me of my grandma. She made me promise to tell you something exactly: ‘I gave kindness. I received kindness. I did not take charity.’”
My throat closed. “Tell her she was right,” I said.
After he left, the kids exploded with excitement. “Do we get our own rooms?” “Can we move tomorrow?” “Can we have a dog?”
I laughed through tears. “One thing at a time. We have to talk to the lawyer. We have to see the house. But yes… things are going to change.”
That night, after the kids slept, I sat alone at the kitchen table with the letter in front of me.
Her “last request” wasn’t about the money. It was about what I’d do with it—not just for us, but for others.
I thought about her at the register, her shaking hands, the way strangers treated her like she was nothing.
I thought about how close I am, all the time, to being in her exact spot.
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