Years passed without much pause. I focused on what needed to be done—showing up, staying consistent. When she graduated from high school, I stood in the crowd and watched her walk across the stage. It wasn’t a moment of surprise—it was the result of years of steady effort, hers and mine. That evening, while she rested upstairs, there was a knock at the door. Two officers stood outside. They explained she wasn’t in trouble, but that she had been working at a construction site without proper documentation, which had led to a report.
Before I could fully understand it, Ainsley came downstairs holding a shoebox. Inside were things I had set aside years ago, including an old acceptance letter to an engineering program. I had received it when I was seventeen and had chosen not to pursue it. She told me she had found it, read through it, and understood more than I had ever explained. The jobs she had taken on were not for herself. She had been saving.
