When Vaughn decides to volunteer at a nursing home to help improve her college applications, she doesn’t expect him to like it this much. But what happens when an elderly woman claims to have known Vaughn since he was a kid? And then leaves him a huge… note?
The nursing home sent the lemon cleaner and medication. It’s oddly comforting and far from the sterile hospital smell most people expect.
I’ve been here long enough that it feels like home, maybe more than any of the foster homes I’ve ever been in growing up.
I was only supposed to be here for a few months to rack up some volunteer hours and improve my college application. Right out of school, I wanted to work for a few years to earn enough money to get into college and make it on my own.
“I understand that you need to work for a while, Vaughn,” said Dorothy, the school guidance counselor. “But don’t put off college too long. The longer you wait, the more you’ll procrastinate.” I agreed. I’d heard too many stories about people with big ambitions who let life pass them by because they ran out of time.
So I worked as a personal assistant for a mom influencer. It was stressful, but she paid well and I could get off work at 3 p.m. every day.
That’s how I ended up at the nursing home after hours.
That was three years ago. Now I’m 25 and still work here most days of the week. And the weirdest part?
I don’t regret it. With its creaky floorboards and echoing hallways, this place has become a haven.
But last week, something happened that made me question almost everything I knew.
It was late Tuesday afternoon, and I was making my usual rounds. Everyone had eaten early and retired to their rooms, ready to rest before reconvening for bingo night.
Room after room, I checked on the residents, adjusted pillows, offered smiles, listened to the same stories I had heard a hundred times. Then I passed Mrs. Coleman’s door. I had seen her before, a lovely woman. She was quiet and 90 years old, always sitting by the window, her gaze fixed as if waiting for something.
Or someone.
I hadn’t planned to stop by Mrs. Coleman’s that day, mainly because she was on the hallway side, which was not my responsibility. But as I passed her door, she reached out and grabbed my arm with surprising strength.
“I know you!” she whispered, her gaze piercing.
At first, I thought it was dementia. It’s not uncommon here. Residents often think I’m their granddaughter or a nurse from years ago.
I smiled, gently removing Mrs. Coleman’s hand from my arm as we walked to her chair.
“I’m sure you know, Mrs. Coleman,” I said, trying to keep my tone gentle with her. “My name is Vaughn, remember? I’ve worked here for a while. I’ve made you ginger tea a few times.”
She smiled.
“I know,” she said. “But that’s not it. I know you. You lived next door to me. You were just a little girl then. Five or six, maybe.”
I froze.
Next door? There was no way. I could barely remember the names of my foster families, much less their neighbors.
Still, something in her eyes caught my attention.
“Don’t you remember?” she asked, leaning forward in her chair. “You used to come every year for my birthday. You would sing to me, my sweet girl.” You would sit with me and my grandson, Soren. I would never forget your name or your beautiful eyes.”
Suddenly, my head was spinning.
I wanted to shake my head and tell her she must be mistaken. But something tugged at the edges of my memory. It was a series of blurry, fuzzy images in my mind. A small kitchen. An older woman’s laughter, the warmth of birthday candles. Chocolate cake. Peppermints on a coffee table.
I felt anxious.
“I…” I started to say. “I don’t really remember, Mrs. Coleman.”
Her expression softened as if she were waiting for that answer from me.
“You were so young,” she said softly. “But I never forgot. You were the only one who came. Soren played with your siblings, and we invited them all. But you’re the only one who came.” Every year, it was just you.”
I could feel my throat tightening. An unpleasant pain was building in the corners of my eyes.
I knelt down next to her, my hand still in hers. I felt things I couldn’t understand. Mrs. Coleman reminded me of a part of my life I had completely forgotten.
How could I have forgotten her? How could I have forgotten something so simple and yet so important?
“I was so lonely,” she continued. “But then you started coming over and Soren was asking his dad to drop him off more often. And before I knew it, the house was filled with your laughter as you two played outside.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry I forgot.”
Mrs. Coleman’s eyes filled with warmth as she looked into mine.
“Don’t be sorry,” she said softly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You were a child. And before I knew it, you were gone. I just assumed you’d moved on to another family. I asked your foster parents where you were, but they couldn’t give me any details.”
“I didn’t know you cared so much…” I said.
“Honey, you were a child. But you saved me, in ways I sometimes don’t even understand.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. My whole life, I had felt like I was moving through the world without anyone noticing. I moved from family to family, changing rooms and beds as I felt comfortable.
But there was this woman, this stranger, who remembered me.
Me.
And that was from a time when I barely remembered myself. And somehow, I had meant something to her.
“Thank you,” I said. “For remembering me…”
She smiled a sweet smile.
“How could I not?” she asked. “I mean, I did for a while. But then I dreamed about you as a kid last night. And then I knew for sure it was you.”
I felt a hundred times better when I left for home that night. I checked into my small apartment and made myself a bowl of noodles.
Everything was different now. Someone knew me. The me from before I grew up.
The next morning, I was startled awake by the buzzing of my phone on my nightstand. Groggily, I grabbed it, squinting at the screen. It was a notification from my bank.
$700,000 had been deposited into my account.
I woke up with a start in my bed, my heart pounding. This had to be a mistake.
Who deposits that much money into a stranger’s account? My mind raced as I stared at the screen, wondering who to call.
The bank? The police? Anyone?
But before I could do anything, my phone rang again. It was the nursing home.
“Vaughn, can you come in early?” the head nurse asked. “Mrs. Coleman… she’s been taken to the hospital. She wasn’t well last night and appears to have slipped into a coma. She’ll be monitored closely before she comes back.”
I barely remember putting on clothes or driving to work. By the time I arrived, my head was racing with a thousand thoughts.
Mrs. Coleman. The money. Was it a coincidence? What did it all mean?
The staff handed me a small envelope when I arrived at the nursing home.
“Mrs. Coleman left this for you, V,” said Catherine, a nurse. “She told me to give it to you last night. I’m leaving now, my shift is over.”
Inside was a note written in small, shaky handwriting.
Use this for your dreams, sweet girl. You deserve it.
It was from her. Mrs. Coleman.
I stood there, clutching the note, feeling the weight of her words. She had given me this money. Somehow, she had found a way to make my dreams come true. I could go to college now. I could be something. Someone.
It took me a few days to decide what to do. In the end, I didn’t apply to college. I went to the hospital to see Mrs. Coleman and was glad I did.
No one else visited her. She was still in a coma, not knowing who was around her. And on the fifth day after she was hospitalized, she died in the middle of the night.
In the end, I didn’t apply to college. Instead, I went to the nursing home office and handed over a check for $50,000.
“Use it, Miranda,” I told the woman in charge. “Fix the leaky roof in the dining room. Renovate the bedrooms. Buy a new television. Let’s make life here better.” »
I gave most of the money to orphans’ charities.
And I kept a good sum to put myself through nursing school at night. When I graduated, I wanted to work properly at the nursing home. And full time.
Mrs. Coleman seemed to know me better than I knew myself.
As I stood outside her room a few days later, watching the sunlight filter through the window, I realized something.
Maybe this had been my dream all along.