When Vaughn decides to volunteer at a nursing home to help boost her university applications, she doesn’t expect to enjoy it so much. But what happens when an elderly woman claims to know Vaughn from childhood? And then leaves her an enormous… with a note?
The nursing home smells of lemon-scented cleaner and medication. It’s oddly comforting and a far cry from the sterile hospital scent that most people expect.
I’ve been here long enough for this to feel like home, maybe even more so than any of the foster homes I bounced between growing up.
A young woman at a nursing home | Source: Midjourney
I was only supposed to be here for a few months to get some volunteer hours under my belt and boost my university application. Straight after school, I wanted to work for a few years to make enough money to get into a university and fend for myself.
“I understand that you need to work for a while, Vaughn,” Dorothy, the school guidance counselor, told me. “But don’t put off university for too long. The longer you wait, the more you’ll just put it off.”
I agreed. I’d heard too many stories of people with big aspirations just letting life pass them by because they didn’t have time anymore.
A teenager sitting her guidance councilor | Source: Midjourney
So, I worked as a personal assistant to a mom-influencer. It was stressful work, but she paid me well, and I could leave work at 3 p.m. every day.
Which is how I ended up at the nursing home after those hours.
That was three years ago. Now, I’m 25 and still working here most days of the week. And the strange part?
A smiling young woman in an office | Source: Midjourney
I don’t regret it. With its creaky floors and echoing hallways, this place has become a refuge.
But last week, something happened that made me question almost everything I knew.
It was Tuesday, late afternoon, and I was making my usual rounds. Everyone had eaten their early dinners and retreated to their rooms, ready for some rest before they came together for bingo night.
The hallway of a nursing home | Source: Midjourney
Room after room, I checked on the residents, adjusting pillows, offering smiles, listening to the same stories I’d heard a hundred times. Then, I passed Mrs. Coleman’s door. I’d seen her before, a lovely woman. She was quiet and 90 years old, always sitting by the window, staring like she was waiting for something.
Or someone.
I had no plans to stop by Mrs. Coleman that day, mainly because she was on the side of the corridor which wasn’t my responsibility. But as I walked past her door, she reached out and grabbed my arm with surprising strength.
A close up of an older woman | Source: Midjourney
“I know you!” she whispered, her eyes sharp.
At first, I assumed it was the dementia. It’s not uncommon here. Residents often think I’m their granddaughter or a nurse from years ago.
I smiled, gently removing Mrs. Coleman’s hand from my arm as we shuffled to her chair.
A close up of a smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
“I’m sure you do, Mrs. Coleman,” I said, trying to keep my tone soft with her. “I’m Vaughn, remember? I’ve been working here for a while. I made you some ginger tea a few times.”
She smiled.
“I know,” she said. “But that’s not it. I know you. You used to live next door to me. You were just a little girl then. Five or six years old, maybe.”
I froze.
An old woman drinking tea | Source: Midjourney
Next door? That couldn’t be right. I barely remembered the names of my foster families, much less their neighbors.
Still, something about her gaze held my attention.
“You don’t remember?” she asked, leaning forward in her chair. “You used to come over every year on my birthday. You’d sing to me, sweet girl. You’d sit with me and my grandson, Soren. I’d never forget your name or those lovely eyes of yours.”
Two children playing together | Source: Midjourney
Suddenly, I felt lightheaded.
I wanted to shake my head and tell her she must be mistaken. But something tugged at the edges of my memory. It was a series of faint, blurry images in my mind. A tiny kitchen. An older woman’s laughter, the warmth of birthday candles. Chocolate cake. Mint sweets on a coffee table.
I felt anxious.
“I…” I started to say. “I don’t really remember, Mrs. Coleman.”
Her expression softened as if she expected that answer from me.
A bowl of mint sweets | Source: Midjourney
“You were so young,” she said quietly. “But I’ve never forgotten. You were the only one who came. Soren used to play with your siblings, and we used to invite them all. But only you came. Every year, it was just you.”
I could feel my throat tighten. The uncomfortable sting of tears gathered at the corners of my eyes.
I knelt beside her, my hand still in hers. I was feeling things that I couldn’t understand. Mrs. Coleman reminded me of a part of my life I had completely forgotten.
A little girl and an old woman sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney
How could I have forgotten her? How could I have forgotten something so simple yet so important?
“I was so lonely,” she continued. “But then you started coming over, and Soren would get his father to drop him off more often. And before I knew it, the house was filled with your laughter as you two played outside.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry I forgot.”
Mrs. Coleman’s eyes filled with warmth as she looked into mine.
A close up of an old woman | Source: Midjourney
“Don’t be sorry,” she said gently as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “You were a child. And before I knew it, you were gone. I just assumed that you moved to another family. I asked your foster parents where you were, but they couldn’t give me any details.”
“I didn’t know you cared that much…” I said.
“Darling girl, you were a child. But you saved me, in ways that sometimes I don’t even understand.”
A close up of a woman | Source: Midjourney
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. My whole life, I’d felt like I was moving through the world unnoticed. I went from family to family, changing rooms and beds just as they became comfortable to me.
But here was this woman, this stranger, who remembered me.
Me.
And this was from a time when I barely remembered myself. And somehow, I had meant something to her.
A close up of a woman | Source: Midjourney
“Thank you,” I said. “For remembering me…”
She smiled a soft smile.
“How could I not?” she asked. “I mean, I did for a moment. But then I dreamt of you as a child last night. And then I knew for sure. It was you.”
I felt a hundred times better when I left for home that evening. I got to my little apartment and made myself a bowl of noodles.
A bowl of noodles on a counter | Source: Midjourney
Everything was different now. Someone knew me. The me from before I grew up.
The next morning, I was jolted awake by my phone buzzing on my nightstand. Groggy, I grabbed it, squinting at the screen. It was a notification from my bank.
$700,000 had been deposited into my account.
I shot up in bed, my heart racing. This had to be a mistake.
A shocked woman sitting in her bed | Source: Midjourney
Who deposits that kind of money into a stranger’s account? My mind was spinning as I stared at the screen, wondering who I should call.
The bank? The police?
Anyone?
But before I could act, my phone rang again. It was the nursing home.
“Vaughn, can you come in early?” the head nurse asked. “Mrs. Coleman… she’s been taken to the hospital. She wasn’t well last night, and she seems to have slipped into a coma. She’s going to be monitored closely before coming back.”
An older nurse | Source: Midjourney
I barely remember throwing on clothes or driving to work. By the time I arrived, my head was buzzing with a thousand thoughts.
Mrs. Coleman. The money. Was it all a coincidence? What did it all mean?
The staff handed me a small envelope when I got to the nursing home.
An envelope on a table | Source: Midjourney
“Mrs. Coleman left this for you, V,” Catherine, a nurse, said. “She told me to give it to you last night. I’m heading off now, my shift is over.”
Inside was a note written in small, shaky handwriting.
Use this for your dreams, sweet girl. You deserve it.
It was from her. Mrs. Coleman.
A close up of a woman | Source: Midjourney
I stood there, clutching the note, feeling the weight of her words. She had given me that money. Somehow, she had found a way to make my dreams come true. I could go to university now. I could become something. Someone.
It took me a few days to decide what to do. In the end, I didn’t apply to the university. I went to the hospital to see Mrs. Coleman and was glad I did.
Nobody else visited her. She was still in her coma, not knowing who was around her. And on the fifth day of her being there, she passed away in the middle of the night.
An old woman in a hospital bed | Source: Midjourney
In the end, I didn’t apply to the university. Instead, I walked into the nursing home office and handed them a check for $50,000.
“Use it, Miranda,” I said to the woman in charge. “Fix the leaky roof in the dining hall. Renovate rooms. Buy a new TV. Let’s make life here better.”
I donated most of the money to charities for orphans.
And I kept a fair amount to get me into nursing school by night. When I was qualified, I wanted to work at the nursing home properly. And full-time.
A young woman studying | Source: Midjourney
Mrs. Coleman seemed to know me better than I knew myself.
As I stood outside her room a few days later, watching the sunlight filter through the window, I realized something.
Maybe this was my dream all along.
A smiling woman looking out a window | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
So, I’ve lived my life in the quietest way possible, or at least that’s what I always thought. I’m Agatha, in my early 70s now, and I’ve spent most of my days just getting by. I never had a husband or kids and didn’t have much family to speak of, really.
A smiling older woman sitting on a chair | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.