Chapter 7 - A Christmas Promise
When Matthew reopened the library door, he found Jenna standing right behind it. Her face was pale, and tears were rolling quietly down her cheeks. She had heard every word spoken in the grand foyer.
"You... you cancelled their contract," Jenna whispered, her voice trembling. "Matthew, what have you done? That was your primary cleaning provider... and now I really don't have a job."
Matthew closed the door gently behind him, shutting out the rest of the cold house. He looked at Jenna, his expression softening back into the calm, thoughtful look he had worn at the dinner table.
"You don't need that job anymore, Jenna," Matthew said softly.
Jenna shook her head, pulling her arms around herself defensively. "I don't want charity, Mr. Hail. I’ve worked for everything I have. I didn't tell you my story so you would take pity on me or ruin your business arrangements."
"It isn't charity," Matthew replied, stepping closer. "It’s a long overdue correction."
He walked over to his heavy oak desk, pulled out a fountain pen, and opened a leather-bound notebook. He wrote something down quickly, tore the page out, and walked back to hand it to her.
Jenna looked down at the paper. It was a formal handwritten memo bearing the letterhead of the Hail Foundation—a massive philanthropic fund that Matthew had established years ago but had largely ignored since his family’s death.
The paper outlined an executive position: Director of Community Outreach and Family Services for the Hail Foundation. Below it was a specified annual salary that made Jenna’s breath catch in her throat—more money than she had ever dreamed of earning in a decade.
"What... what is this?" Jenna asked, looking up at him in complete disbelief.
"My foundation has sat dormant for three years because I didn't have the heart to run it," Matthew explained, looking her dead in the eye. "It was meant to help families in crisis, but I filled the board with suits and accountants who cared more about tax write-offs than real people. I need someone who actually knows what it feels like to struggle. Someone who knows what families need when the heat goes off and the fridge is empty."
"Matthew... I don't have a corporate degree," Jenna said, her hands shaking as she held the paper. "I clean floors."
"You have something far more valuable," Matthew said firmly. "You have integrity. You have fight. And you care about people. I can hire a hundred accountants to handle the numbers, Jenna. I need you to handle the purpose."
Jenna looked from the paper over to the velvet sofa, where Daisy had rolled over, resting her cheek against the cashmere blanket with a tiny, peaceful smile on her face. For the first time in two years, the crushing, suffocating weight sitting on Jenna’s chest began to lift.
"I don't know what to say..." Jenna sobbed, covering her mouth with her red, cracked hand.
"Say you'll accept," Matthew said quietly. "And let me give myself a reason to care about tomorrow again."
May you like
Before Jenna could answer, Daisy let out a long yawn, stretching her tiny arms into the air as she woke up. She rubbed her eyes with her small fists, sat up on the sofa, and blinked at the fire glowing in the hearth.
"Mommy?" Daisy called out softly, her child’s voice cutting cleanly through the heavy emotional air of the room. "Is it Christmas morning yet?"
