“Hello to you too.”
Her mother looked toward the flowers.
“They're beautiful.”
Then she added, “Too many.”
The daughter smiled.
“There's no such thing.”
Her mother shook her head.
“Your father would've said the same thing.”
They laughed.
Then the daughter sat beside her.
For several minutes, they spoke about ordinary things.
A cousin's wedding.
A new apartment building near their old neighborhood.
A documentary about medical science.
Then her mother asked how business was going.
The daughter gave a vague answer.
“Fine.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow.
“Fine?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds suspicious.”
The daughter laughed.
“I'm not discussing acquisitions while you're supposed to be resting.”
Her mother smiled.
Then her expression grew thoughtful.
“Have you done anything with that children's hospital idea?”
The daughter became quiet.
For years, she'd talked about creating a fund to help families with travel and access to specialist care.
She had donated to existing programs.
Supported medical research.
And participated in charity boards.
But she hadn't built the comprehensive project she imagined when she was younger.
Not because she lacked money.
Because she kept waiting for the perfect structure.
The perfect partners.
The perfect moment.
She looked toward her mother.
“I'm working on it.”
Her mother nodded.
Then looked toward the flowers.
After a while, she whispered, “Don't wait forever.”
The daughter felt her throat tighten.
“Mom.”
The older woman reached for her hand.
“Listen to me.”
She turned back.
Her mother's voice was gentle.
“It's wonderful that you've been successful.”
The daughter nodded.
“But success isn't a reason to keep postponing the things you care about most.”
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then her mother continued.
“I spent my life watching families do everything they could for their children.”
Her eyes filled.