Page 68 of Buttons

“No, because I can’t help that and it’s not going to change. The difference is that I have no right to force my thoughts onto other people, or judge or criticize them for who they are or who they want to be. The point is, I’m going to try to be more patient with myself and others. It might take some practice, though. Old habits are hard to break.”

We’ve reached a tentative peace, it seems. The children have accepted my apology, or at least, they’re willing to consider it. It’s not reconciliation, not by a long shot, but it’s a beginning. A simple “I’m sorry” isn’t good enough, nor are a few shifts at the shelter. I haveyearsto make up for.

After the kids run off, Elowen and I are left standing. We walk to the park bench and sit. Kids all over are screaming as they play, but I’m focused on one more apology.

“I’ve spent the last decade viewing our life together as an extension of myself,” I say, my voice barely carrying over the distant shrieks of playing children. “I never gave you a choice in how you even dressed, because I viewed you as if you were literally me.”

“That makes me sad, Julian.” She’s not looking at me; she’s watching Leo as he swings. “The pressure you put on all three of us was suffocating. I can’t imagine what that means for the amount of pressure you put on yourself.”

I pause, thinking about it. Anything less than perfection is not acceptable. I suppose that is a lot of pressure. There’s no ‘good enough’ in my world.

Giving her honesty, I say, “You know, I’ve never thought about it, but I still don’t want it to take away from you.”

“I appreciate it. Really, I do. I’ve seen changes in you, or at least, in how you treat people. I’m proud of you.”

“If I could take the past back, I would.”

“I know, Julian. But you can’t, and here we are.” She finally turns and looks at me. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears I hope are from the wind.

Please be from the wind.

Chapter 29

Elowen

The drive home from the park felt like traveling through a fog. Julian’s admission that he’d tried to mold me, and even our children, into extensions of his own ego lingered. I could still see the way Leo and Meredith had touched their noses.

By the time Monday morning rolled around, my mind was a messy knot of hope and exhaustion. Pride is a strange thing; I told Julian I’ve seen some positive changes, and I meant it, but that doesn’t instantly mendus.

Needing something else to focus on, I settle into work early. I could stay at home and do remote work, but the kids are at day camp, and I want to get out of the house today. I need a win. I need to know that my vision for the sanctuary wasn’t just a frantic escape from my failing marriage, but a viable reality.

I stare at my computer screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. And it’s there. The Trixie J Foundation email sitsunopened in my inbox like a time bomb. One click could change everything for the cat sanctuary I’m namingButton’s Sanctuary Academy. One click could tell me if all those late nights hunched over spreadsheets and permit applications paid off. I take a deep breath, close my eyes for a moment, and click. The email loads. My eyes skip past the formal greeting in search of the answer.

“We are pleased to inform you that the Trixie J Foundation Board of Directors has reviewed your proposal for the Buttons Sanctuary Academy and found it to be aligned with our mission of supporting innovative community initiatives…”

My heart pounds. I grip the edge of my desk, afraid that the email will suddenly say “however” or “unfortunately.”

“Subject to the following conditions, we are prepared to award a grant of $250,000 toward your initial campaign.”

I can’t breathe. A quarter of a million dollars. I got it! I actually got it! My fingers tremble as I scroll to see the conditions.

“As outlined in our application guidelines, all major projects require significant corporate sponsorship to ensure long-term sustainability. Before funds can be disbursed, the Buttons Sanctuary Academy must secure a founding corporate sponsor with a minimum commitment of $100,000. This sponsor must…”

The rest of the sentence blurs as my stomach drops. Corporate sponsorship. Of course. I forgot! The one detail I’d glossed over, assuming I could secure the foundation grant first and use that momentum to attract corporate donors later. Shoot. Without the sponsorship, the grant disappears, and while I knew the grant required sponsorship, I also stupidly thought it would be something like $25,000, maybe $50,000, but $100,00?!

“Bad news or constipation?”

I look up to find Beatrix standing in the doorway of the tiny office, her reading glasses perched on her nose and a stack of veterinary records under one arm.

“Wish it was constipation,” I mumble. “The Trixie J Foundation likes our proposal.”

“But?” Beatrix’s brow arches knowingly.

“Butwe need a corporate sponsor with deep pockets before they’ll release the funds.” I swivel my monitor so she can see the email. “A hundred thousandminimum.”

Beatrix reads without comment, her expression neutral. “Well, you did work in Corporate America. Use those connections.”

She delivers this line like it’s obvious, as if pointing out that I have brown hair or can read English. Then she’s gone. I suppose this came as no surprise to her. She’s used to charities having to jump through hoops to secure funding. It’s just odd to be on the other side of it. Usually, I help Julian donate to charity, not become the charity that needs donating to.