Oh indeed.
Grace is back sooner than expected.
Then she bursts into my room, holding her phone with both hands like it contains breaking news or evidence in a federal investigation.
Her eyes are wild and red.
Has she been crying?
I wait for her.
"I got in." Her voice cracks. "Jane. I got into the Cedar Falls program."
Everything stops.
"What?" I'm on my feet. "The nursing residency?”
"YES! On full scholarship. Free housing in the hospital residential program. Paid clinical hours for the full internship year." She's reading from her phone, hands shaking. "And a signing bonus after graduation that's—Jane, look at this number."
She turns the phone toward me.
I stare at it.
Grace. My baby sister. Look at you.
I pull her in. Hold on.
Mom died when Grace was fourteen.
I was nineteen.
There wasn’t a dramatic moment when I decided to become responsible.
Itjust… happened.
So, the relief isn’t gentle.
It hits like a ledger slamming closed, knocking the wind out of me in the process.
It’s two years of future tuition disappearing in one email.
Two more years of “we’ll make it work” I don’t have to whisper at three in the morning.
The full ride residency means free housing. Paid hours. Clinical fees I don’t have to quietly offset.
It means Grace can focus on her rotations. On her patients. On passing boards.
On being twenty-two instead of budgeting like she’s forty.
It means she gets to graduate without a shadow attached to her name.
It means she gets to start clean.
"I'm so proud of you." My voice is steady. Barely. "So incredibly proud."
She pulls back, fully crying now, still beaming.
"Jane, it's in Colorado." Her voice breaks differently on that. "Cedar Falls. I can't just—you're here. How do I—"
