On weekends, she took me with her to business meetings, expecting me to observe and learn. “Watch how people negotiate,” she would instruct. “Notice who speaks first, who concedes points, who maintains eye contact. Business is human psychology applied to commerce.”

Education was paramount in her value system. When the local public school proved inadequate, she enrolled me in Westfield Academy, a private school with small classes and high expectations. The transition was difficult. My former school had not prepared me for the academic rigor, and the other students came from wealthy families with very different life experiences.

I struggled with the coursework initially, spending hours at my desk while trying to catch up. There were nights I wanted to give up, convinced I would never belong in this world of privilege and preparation.

But Aunt Vivien would not accept surrender. “Your circumstances changed through no action of your own,” she told me one night when I was sobbing over geometry proofs. “But your response to those circumstances is entirely your choice. You can use this opportunity or waste it. The decision is yours. But I warn you—I do not invest in lost causes.”

It was not the warm comfort I wanted, but her blunt pragmatism somehow steadied me. I hired a peer tutor with my allowance and created study groups with classmates. By junior year, I had worked my way onto the honor roll.

College applications brought new stress. I wanted to attend state university where several friends were going, but Aunt Vivien pushed for more prestigious schools.