Chapter 8 - LINDA’S HANDS
One year after the canceled wedding, I established a small scholarship.
Not the Michael Hale Scholarship.
I had enough ego.
I named it after Mom.
The Linda Hale Working Caregivers Fund.
Small grants for students pursuing nursing assistant, practical nursing, or home-health certifications while supporting family members.
No giant gala.
No giant portrait.
Just money.
Practical.
The way Linda would have liked.
When Sophie heard about it, she called.
“You did this because of me?”
“No.”
Pause.
“You reminded me why it mattered.”
Different.
She accepted that.
Then told me she had passed her first year.
Ethan was doing well too.
Their mother’s health had stabilized.
Her voice sounded lighter.
We spoke for seventeen minutes.
No flirting.
No promises.
After hanging up, Margaret said from across the room:
“You smiled.”
“Grandma.”
“What?”
“Stop.”
“I’m old. I have limited entertainment.”
I laughed.
Life was becoming ordinary again.
May you like
That was the best part.
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