The fund grew.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Exactly the way our life had once been rebuilt.
Years later, Jane invited me back to the university.
She was speaking at a ceremony for first-generation graduates.
I sat in the same auditorium.
Same front row.
Different dress.
Same daughter.
Jane walked onto the stage wearing a navy suit instead of a graduation gown.
She was now Dr. Jane Evans.
Director of a statewide college access initiative.
When she reached the microphone, she smiled down at me.
I knew that smile.
I braced myself.
“Many years ago,” she began, “my mother taught me that sacrifice isn’t always dramatic.”
The room became quiet.
“Sometimes sacrifice looks like waiting for a bus at five in the morning.”
She paused.
“Sometimes it looks like worn-out shoes, cold dinners, or pretending you’re not tired because your child is watching.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Again.
Jane smiled.
