Over eggplant parm, my daughter Ruth told me she was staying child-free. I changed my will, leaving more to my nephew. She wasn’t angry—just calm, certain.
“You’re acting on your values. I’m acting on mine,” she said. But later, she admitted: “Everyone wants to feel like their life counts.” I saw her—truly—for the first time. I revised the will again, including a letter telling her I was proud. Years later, she and her wife adopted a daughter. Holding Ada, I understood: legacy isn’t just children. It’s what we build, who we lift, and the love we learn to give.
