A photo of her mopping an office hallway in a faded T-shirt, a stroller behind her with a sleeping toddler and a textbook propped on the handle. Another of her at our kitchen table, highlighter in hand at 2 a.m.
I heard him inhale sharply behind me.
The dean stepped to the microphone. “Tonight, we present our Student of the Decade award. This student began as a single mother of ten children. She worked nights, raised her family, and never missed a clinical.”
I felt him flinch.
“She maintained one of our highest GPAs. Please join me in honoring Rebecca.”
We shot to our feet, screaming and clapping through tears. Mom looked stunned, then rose and walked to the stage.
“I don’t really know what to say,” she began, voice shaking. “Ten years ago, I was scared and exhausted.”
The dean smiled. “And her eldest daughter has a few words.”
My heart pounded as I stood. Dad grabbed my wrist. “Emma, don’t drag our history into this.”
“You wrote that history,” I said, pulling free.
Onstage, the lights were blinding. I hugged Mom. She trembled.
“Please be gentle,” she whispered.
“You’ve been gentle for ten years,” I murmured. “Let me be honest.”
I faced the crowd, then found him in the back row.
“My mom had ten kids,” I began. Laughter rippled softly. “She married a man who called that his greatest blessing.”
I swallowed. “He also said God was calling him elsewhere when she was eight months pregnant with the tenth.”
The room went still.
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