My son said dinner was canceled, but when I got to the restaurant…

The part of my life that I’d let others decide for me. The part where I waited for attention and love from those who couldn’t or wouldn’t give it. The spring sun was peeking through the windows of my new apartment, filling it with warmth and light.

I sat in an armchair with a cup of morning tea, watching the city come to life. From the third floor, I had a beautiful view of Blue Spring Central Square, with its neat flower beds and ancient fountain. Across the street from me was the city library building, my new second home.

It had been three months since that night at the Willow Creek restaurant. Three months since I’d turned the page on my life and started writing a new chapter. Change wasn’t easy.

I’d lived in the same house my whole life, every corner of which held memories. But in a strange way, this small apartment, with its light walls and minimal belongings, gave me a sense of freedom I hadn’t felt in years. The ringing of the phone interrupted my thoughts.

I glanced at the screen Wesley, the fourth call this week. I put the phone away without answering it. Let him leave a message if it was really important.

After that night at the restaurant it was like my kids woke up. Suddenly they remembered I existed. At first there were angry phone calls.

How could I do this, sell the house, disinherit them? Then when they realized the anger wasn’t working, they started trying to ingratiate themselves. Wesley would arrive with flowers and a guilty look, talking about the misunderstanding and how much they really loved me. Thelma called every day offering to help me set up my new apartment, inviting me to lunch.

Even Cora sent a fruit basket and an apology card. I didn’t reject their attempts at reconciliation outright. I just kept my distance.

I accepted the gifts with a polite smile, but I wasn’t in a hurry to re-establish the old relationship. They had to realize that trust, once broken, doesn’t magically rebuild itself. Besides, I understood all too well the real reason for their sudden concern.

They hoped that I hadn’t yet had time to dispose of the money from the sale of the house, that maybe the donation to the library was just a threat. Wesley even cautiously wondered if I’d been too hasty in my decision to make such a large donation. And when I confirmed that the deal was finalized and the money had already been deposited into the library’s account, his face changed as if a mask had fallen.

For a moment I saw the real Wesley the calculating, money-minded one. The phone rang again. This time it was Reed.

Good morning, Grandma. His voice sounded cheerful despite the early hour. How are you today? Good morning, honey, I smiled involuntarily.

Beautiful as always. I admire the view from the window and think about the day ahead. Did you remember that today is the opening of the new wing of the library? I could hear the excitement in his voice.

I’ll pick you up at three o’clock like we agreed. Of course I remembered. I glanced at the dress I’d prepared for the ceremony, dark blue with a light silver pattern.

It’s all ready now. After a brief conversation with Reed, I went back to my tea. The opening of the new wing of the library is an important event for me.

The George Thornberry Wing is what it will be called. A place where children will be able to discover the world of books as George once did. He would be happy knowing that his name was associated with something so meaningful.

Finished with my tea, I began to get ready for my morning shift at the library. Three times a week I volunteered there, helping out in the children’s department. I read fairy tales to the kids, helped school children with book selection, and sometimes just talked to teenagers who came to the library not so much for books as for the silence and understanding they lacked at home.

This work gave me a sense of need that I had been deprived of for so long. The children looked at me not as a burden, not as a source of inheritance, but as a person who could give them something. Knowledge, attention, kindness.

On my way to the library, I met Martha Finch, my new friend and housemate. An energetic widow in her 70s, a former math teacher, she was one of the people who had helped me settle into my new place. Edith, she waved at me.

I’m going to the bakery for fresh bread. Do you want me to bring you anything? Thank you Martha, I’m fine, I smiled. I have a big day today and I’ll have lunch in town after the opening ceremony.

Oh yes, today is the opening of your George Wing, she nodded. That’s very good of you Edith, such a generous donation, such a tribute to your husband. I thanked her and continued on my way to the library.

After that night at the restaurant, news of my donation spread quickly through Blue Springs. People’s reactions varied. Some thought I was a heroine, some thought I was a crazy old woman who had disinherited her own children, but I didn’t care.

I knew I’d done the right thing. At the library, preparations for the opening ceremony were already in full swing. Workers were setting up the stage in front of the new wing.

Volunteers were hanging garlands and arranging chairs. Miss Prentiss, the head librarian, was running between them, dispensing instructions with an energy surprising for a woman of her age. Edith, she exclaimed when she saw me, how good of you to come.

We need help with the books for the new shelves. Can you select the children’s books that you think should be displayed first? I happily agreed. I spent the next few hours going through books ranging from classic fairy tales to contemporary stories…