She’d been really proud of her job. Came home every night smelling like vanilla and salt air, talking about saving the ocean one recyclable cup at a time.
“Maybe it sounds silly, but it doesn’t feel right to take that money back,” he said.
“I know what you mean. I’ve been thinking…” I pulled out some printed pages I’d found in Emma’s room and passed them to Tom. “What if we donated her college fund to charity?”
Tom’s eyes welled up with emotions as he read the pages. He nodded.
We agreed to divide the funds between two climate organizations that Emma used to support religiously. One of them funded reforestation initiatives in South America, while the other assisted young women in pursuing environmental vocations.
It felt right. More than that, it seemed like the decision she would have asked us to make.
For the first time since she died, Tom and I felt like we were accomplishing something worthwhile.
“She’d be proud of us,” Tom said, his voice thick with emotion.
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