Page 46 of Remain

There’s a pause.

I like the sound of that.

I look back at the notebook and turn the page.

For the first time since my mom died, the future doesn’t feel like something I have to survive. It feels like something I get to build.

I don’t sleepmuch that night.

Not because my mind is racing but because it’s finally moving. There’s a difference; racing feels panicked. This feels like a slow current I can step into instead of being dragged under.

Morning light filters through the blinds, pale and wintry, catching on the frames on my wall that I can’t wait to fill with photos of my mother, of Erik, of who I am and where I come from.

I make coffee and don’t rush it, that action alone feels new.

I open my laptop, pull the notebook closer, and flip back to the page where I wroteThe Christmas Kindness Drive — Expansion Ideas. The words look steadier this morning, more like a plan and less like a reaction.

I add another bullet.

– Start with systems, not scale

That was always my mother’s way. She hated attention but loved logistics.

I hover over my phone for a long moment before unlocking it.

Then I dial.

Mrs. Kincaid answers on the second ring.

“Savannah,”brisk as ever. “I was wondering how long it would take.”

She always knows how to deliver with just a little edge. “Good morning to you too.”

“You don’t call unless you’re ready to do something,” she replies. “So. What is it? I’m all ears, dear.”

I take a breath. “I think The Christmas Kindness Drive can reach more families without changing what it is.”

Silence.

Then, carefully, “Go on.”

I explain, slowly, and clearly. “Digital intake forms that don’t collect names. Centralized donations so no single family is visible. Coordinating volunteers so the work doesn’t fall on the same shoulders every year. Partnering quietly with nearby towns that don’t have the infrastructure Pineview does.”

“I don’t want to make it louder,” I reassure her. “I want to change more lives.”

Another pause.

When she speaks again, her voice is different. Softer around the edges.“Your mother would’ve liked that. She always said sustainability mattered more than scale.”

My throat tightens. “She wrote that down.”

“I know,” Mrs. Kincaid says gently. “She showed me once.”

Of course she did.

“I can help from here,” I add. “New York. Remotely. I’m not trying to take over. I just…”

“You’re trying to build,” she cuts in.