The phone call came on a Tuesday morning, disrupting my usual routine of scrambling to make ends meet. My name is Sarah, and life hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park. Growing up in the foster care system, you learn pretty quickly that fairy tales are just that – tales. Stability is a foreign concept, and надежда is a luxury you can’t afford. So, when I received a call from a lawyer, a Mr. Abernathy, informing me of Cynthia’s passing, my first reaction wasn’t grief, but shock. Cynthia was my foster sister. We were placed together when I was eight and she was ten. We weren’t particularly close, but we were each other’s constant in a world of ever-changing faces and places. We lost touch after we aged out of the system, each of us trying to navigate the treacherous waters of adulthood alone. To hear that she was gone… it was a stark reminder of how fragile life is, and how easily connections can fray over time. But then Mr. Abernathy said something that truly floored me: I was named in Cynthia’s will. He repeated it, just to be sure I understood. He said there was no mistake. I was bewildered.
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“Is… is Cynthia okay?” I managed to stammer out, my voice barely a whisper. Mr. Abernathy’s response was blunt. “I’m afraid she passed away last week. She named you in her will.” I was floored. We were foster sisters. We didn’t talk. Why me? My mind was racing. I asked the question floating at the front of my thoughts: “But I was her foster sister… and Cynthia didn’t really have much.” To say we came from humble backgrounds would be an understatement. We were practically destitute. What could she possibly leave me? A box of old memories? A collection of thrift store finds? I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I braced myself for disappointment.
Mr. Abernathy assured me there was no mistake. Cynthia had specifically named me as her sole beneficiary. He then uttered words that would forever change the trajectory of my life: “Actually, she… she was a billionaire.” I nearly dropped the phone. A billionaire? Cynthia? The girl who used to share her meager meals with me, the girl who patched up my torn clothes with nimble fingers, the girl who dreamed of a better life but never seemed to catch a break? How could she possibly have become a billionaire? My mind struggled to reconcile the image of the Cynthia I knew with this new, almost fantastical reality.
He explained that after leaving the foster system, Cynthia had a knack for technology. She started a small software company, which grew exponentially over the years. She was a brilliant innovator, a visionary who saw the potential in emerging technologies long before anyone else did. Her company became a global phenomenon, revolutionizing the way people interacted with the digital world. And somewhere along the way, she had amassed an unfathomable fortune. I still couldn’t believe it. My foster sister, the girl with nothing, had become a billionaire, and she had chosen to leave it all to me.
The meeting with Mr. Abernathy to discuss the details of the will was surreal. Documents were signed, numbers were crunched, and legal jargon was thrown around with dizzying speed. It felt like I was living in a movie, a bizarre, unbelievable dream. As I walked out of the lawyer’s office, clutching a stack of papers that represented more money than I could ever imagine, I felt a strange mix of emotions: grief, disbelief, gratitude, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility. What was I supposed to do with all of this? How could I possibly honor Cynthia’s memory and use this gift in a way that would make her proud?
I knew I couldn’t squander it. I couldn’t simply buy a mansion and live a life of luxury. That wasn’t who I was, and I knew it wasn’t what Cynthia would have wanted. She had always been driven by a desire to help others, to make a difference in the world. And now, I had the means to do just that. I decided to start a foundation in Cynthia’s name, dedicated to supporting foster children and providing them with the resources and opportunities they needed to succeed. I wanted to give them the stability, the encouragement, and the надежда that Cynthia and I had so desperately craved growing up. I wanted to create a world where every child had a chance to thrive, regardless of their circumstances.
It’s been a year since that fateful phone call, and my life has changed in ways I never thought possible. The Sarah who struggled to make ends meet is gone, replaced by a Sarah who is determined to make a difference. I miss Cynthia every day, but I know that her legacy lives on through the foundation and the lives we are able to touch. It’s a daunting task, but I’m committed to honoring her memory and using her gift to create a better future for the next generation of foster children. And sometimes, when I’m working late at the foundation, surrounded by files and paperwork, I can almost hear Cynthia’s voice, whispering, “You’ve got this, sis.” And I know that somehow, she’s watching over me, guiding me, and cheering me on every step of the way.
