Weeks later, while cooking, my phone rang. Unknown number.
“Hi, is this Mrs. Lester?” a warm voice asked. “This is Bethany from BrightSteps. We partnered with your daughters’ school on a design challenge. Hannah and Diana submitted a project.”
“Yes,” I said cautiously. “Is something wrong?”
“Quite the opposite,” she laughed. “Their designs were outstanding. We’d like to turn that project into a real collaboration. A paid line of adaptive clothing.”
My mouth went dry. “A real… line?”
“Yes,” she said. “Projected royalties around $530,000.”
I almost dropped the phone. “Did you say 530,000?”
“Yes, ma’am. Of course, it depends on sales, but that’s the estimate.”
I whispered, “My girls did that? Hannah and Diana?”
“You’ve raised very talented young women,” she said. “We’d love to set up a meeting—with interpreters, of course.”
When I hung up, I sat stunned. Steven walked in. “Abbie? You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Closer to an angel,” I said, half laughing, half crying.
I explained, and his jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I were,” I said. “Our girls. The ones someone left in a stroller. They did this.”
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