The Quiet Life I Built, and the Part of My Heart That Lived Elsewhere
My name is Genevieve St. Clair. I’m sixty-eight, retired after a lifetime in nursing.
I live alone in a small paid-off house in rural South Carolina.
My life is simple now — jasmine in the morning air, crickets after dark, the same neighbors waving from the same porches.
But part of my heart lived six hundred miles away, outside Charlotte, North Carolina.
That’s where my only child, Candace, lived with her husband, Preston.
I’d spent decades doing what nurses do:
- Extra shifts when my body begged for rest
- Careful saving when money was tight
- Quiet prayers when fear tried to get loud
I told myself it was worth it because Candace would have a life bigger than mine.
And then she called me about a house.
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