She held my hand more than once, in the hallway, when I couldn’t hold myself together in front of him.
She had a little boy at home.
A single mother.
Working nights.
Studying during the day to become a nurse practitioner.
His name was Daniel.
I stopped reading for a moment.
Sat there in my car, engine off.
Stared at that name on the page.
After your grandfather passed, I never forgot Nadine.
I paid for part of her tuition.
Quietly.
Through a scholarship fund set up under a name neither of us used.
I watched Daniel grow up from a careful distance.
Report cards.
A graduation photo Nadine mailed me every few years.
I never told you any of this.
I never told anyone.
Some kindnesses are better left unclaimed.
I remembered, distantly, my grandmother mentioning a scholarship fund once at a holiday dinner.
Years ago.
The vague way she talked about money whenever anyone asked too many questions.
I’d never thought to ask more.
