Page 66 of The Vow Thief
By 7:45, we were finally in the car, late by our usual ten minutes. The radio was blasting Hall & Oates’You Make My Dreams (Come True),and both kids were singing like they were auditioning for the‘80s.
Tommy drummed his hands on his knees, wildly off beat. Emily held her cereal bar like a microphone.“Mom, you sound like you could’ve been in a band!”
I laughed.“I was. It was called Laundry and Carpool. Critics loved us.”
They both cracked up. Tommy rolled his eyes, grinning.“You’re so weird.”
“I know,” I said.“That’s why I’m your mom.”
By the time we pulled into the drop-off line, the song was at its final chorus. Emily unbuckled and kissed my cheek dramatically.“Go change the world, Mom.”
“Only if you promise to finish your math homework.”
She gave me a thumbs-up and ran toward the school doors. Tommy trailed after her, waving one last time before disappearing inside.
The car was suddenly quiet. I took a breath, leaned back against the seat, and smiled. I loved this part, the shift from chaos to calm, the small victory of getting them there mostly on time and fully clothed.
I scrolled through my playlist and swapped Hall & Oates for Paramore.Conspiracyfilled the car, loud and unapologetic. I turned it up, just loud enough to feel the melody pulse in my chest.
The drive home was my reset button. Coffee, music, and ten minutes of pretending my life was simpler than it really was.
By the time I pulled into the driveway, my shoulders had loosened, and my mood had caught up with the morning. I grabbed my coffee mug, kicked the door shut behind me, and walked straight to my office, ready to face whatever waited in my inbox.
It wasn’t glamorous. Just sunlight, stacks of reports, and a coffee mug that said Save the World, But Hydrate First. But this room was where I felt most myself. No chaos, no history, just purpose.
I settled in, checked the morning updates from the program directors, and started combing through my inbox. A dozen grant reports, a few thank-you notes, and one subject line that caught my attention.
Subject: Potential Collaboration: Second Sight Foundation and The Concord Initiative
The sender’s name: Eli. No last name. Confidently simple.
I clicked.
Sarah,
I hope this finds you well. My name is Eli, and I serve as a principal donor and advisor to the Second Sight Foundation, a new philanthropic initiative founded by J. Raines. The foundation focuses on expanding access to arts education and mentorship for women and children in underserved communities.
Given The Concord Initiative’s long-standing leadership in building equitable education programs, I believe there is a meaningful opportunity for collaboration between our teams. J. Raines and I would welcome the chance to discuss how our shared goals might intersect to create measurable, sustainable impact.
If this interests you, I’d be glad to arrange a short introductory call or meeting at your convenience. My office can coordinate directly with your team to find a time that works best.
Warm regards,
Eli
The moment I finished reading, something in me switched on. This was exactly the kind of outreach that reminded me why I did what I did. Clear mission. Real potential. And from the way this“Eli” wrote, I could tell he wasn’t just another polished donor fishing for PR. He understood the work.
I sat forward, smiling at my screen.
Emails like this were caffeine for my soul.
I typed back:
Hi Eli,
Thank you for reaching out. I’d be glad to meet to learn more about the Second Sight Foundation. How does Wednesday at 2 p.m. work for you?
Best,
