I looked at Aunt Jasmine across the table—really looked at her—and couldn't help the smile that curved my lips. Not the predatory one. Not the one that promised damnation wrapped in silk. Just... affection.
My smile came from knowing someone's story, knowing what it cost them to get here.
She'd finished college last year. Graduated with honors, actually, though she never mentioned that part because humility was a family trait we'd all inherited except Emma, who'd decided bragging rights were more fun.
Linda had paid for every credit hour, every textbook, every late-night coffee that kept Jasmine's eyes open through finals.
That's why despite being promoted to the ICU floor—despite the raise that should've meant breathing room—Mom barely made enough to support four of us.
And the three were women with high needs even if they held back too.
Jasmine had worked part-time through school. Retail, mostly.
