Our second daughter's name began to appear on school boards — a candidate, a scholar, a promise fulfilled.
The day she brought home her admission letter, we danced as if heaven itself had opened.
Tears ran down my cheeks — not of sadness, but of victory.
The same girl who studied under candlelight was now on her way to becoming a graduate.
Our third daughter started taking in small sewing jobs.
Her hands, once tiny and uncertain, now stitched clothes that made people smile.
Each child became a chapter of redemption — proof that poverty can't bury purpose.
And each night, as I tucked them in, I whispered, "You are the reason I keep standing.