When Ivy stepped outside, she was greeted by two familiar faces that time had not softened. Her mother looked tearful, and her father held a bouquet of flowers that seemed slightly wilted. They spoke quickly, calling her beautiful and telling her how proud they were. She listened quietly, unsure of what they hoped to gain. She agreed to meet them for dinner, more out of curiosity than sentiment.
The diner they chose hadn’t changed much since her childhood. As they sat together, Ivy watched them fidget and rehearse half-finished thoughts. Then the conversation shifted. They suggested that her aunt had influenced her memories.
They said they had always wanted to return, that circumstances had simply gotten away from them. And then, as she had quietly anticipated, the requests began. Her mother needed help with a failing car. Her father mentioned an upcoming move and financial strain. They spoke of new children, growing families, and the need for stability.
Ivy remained calm. She simply told them she was willing to help if they met one condition. They agreed quickly, relieved, asking only what to wear to the event she mentioned.
That Saturday, the community center filled with neighbors, teachers, former classmates, and local artists. The room buzzed with a celebratory energy. On the largest banner was a message that meant more to Ivy than any award: “Honoring the Woman Who Built an Artist.”
Her parents arrived early, dressed as if they expected to be introduced. Ivy escorted them to the front row. Moments later, the doors opened quietly and Aunt Carol stepped inside with a bouquet gathered carefully in her arms. She looked confused when she saw Ivy’s parents but took a seat at Ivy’s side. When their hands met, Ivy felt grounded again.
The presentation began with a series of photographs projected across the stage.
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