Chapter 6 - My Mother’s Handwriting
Grandma Ruth lived forty minutes away in a brick house that always smelled like coffee and lemon cleaner.
She met us at the door with a metal document box.
“I should have asked more questions,” she said.
I hugged her before she could apologize again.
Inside the box were copies of insurance papers, old bank statements, and a cream-colored envelope with my name written across it.
Mom’s handwriting.
I ran my thumb over the letters.
For a second, I was twelve again, watching her label freezer containers because she hated the idea of us eating takeout every night.
Grandma pushed a folder toward Julie.
“Claire kept copies of everything.”
The papers showed where the college money had come from.
Some had been Mom’s savings.
Some had been gifts from Grandma.
There were notes about what Dad had promised to keep aside.
It wasn’t a magical document that put the money back.
It was proof that I hadn’t imagined its purpose.
Grandma looked miserable.
“Every Christmas, your father told me it was growing.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was one page.
Em,
If you’re reading this before college, take a breath. You don’t have to know who you’ll be for the rest of your life.
Choose something because it interests you, not because you think it will impress us.
Ask for help before things become impossible.
And please remember: being easy to love is not a job you owe anyone.
I stopped reading.
Julie handed me a tissue.
Mom had known me.
The girl who said she didn’t need a birthday party because money was tight.
The girl who ate the wrong dinner without complaining.
The girl who thought needing less might make people stay.
At the bottom, Mom had written:
Your dad promised me he’d make sure you got your chance.
I folded the letter carefully.
For the first time since graduation, I wasn’t crying because I wanted Dad to choose me.
I was crying because I had to choose myself.
Grandma offered to pay the housing deposit.
“A gift,” she said.
“Not a debt.”
I accepted.
Then Dad sent a message.
Please come tomorrow. We need a family meeting.
A second message followed.
Owen is very upset, and this is hurting him.
May you like
I stared at the screen.
Even now, he had found a way to put another child between himself and what he had done.
