Victoria’s tears fell. What if I fail? Then we learn and try again. But Victoria, I don’t think you’ll fail. I think you’ll change hundreds of lives. Victoria looked at the folder again, read the details, the scope, the possibilities. Can I make changes? design the program my way.
That’s why I want you, your vision, your expertise. I provide funding and business support. You make all program decisions. And if we disagree? Isaiah smiled. Then you win. This is your program. Head Victoria laughed through tears. You’d really give me that much control. Yes, because I trust you. I’ve trusted you since I was 10 years old.
Victoria sat back down, read through the entire proposal, asked questions. Isaiah answered honestly. Finally, she looked up. I have conditions. Name them. I want to hire from the communities we serve. Staff should include people who’ve been through the system. Done. I want advisory boards made up of former foster youth.
real decision-making power, not token representation. Absolutely. And I want to keep working one day a week at the community center with my current clients so I never forget why we’re doing this.” Isaiah nodded. “We’ll write that into your contract.” Victoria took a deep breath. “Then yes, I’ll do it. Let’s save some kids.
” Isaiah’s smile was radiant. Thank you. They shook hands. Professional then hugged personal. We’re going to change lives. Isaiah said we already did each others. Over the next month, contracts were signed. Staff hired, office space allocated in one of Isaiah’s buildings. Victoria gave notice at her old job. Bittersweet goodbyes.
Her co-workers cried. You deserve this. The program launched quietly. No press, just work. Victoria interviewed the first cohort, 25 youth, ages 16 to 21, all aging out of foster care. She met Marcus again. You’re in, Marcus. We’re going to help you. Marcus cried. Why? Why me? Victoria smiled.
Because someone helped me once. Now it’s my turn. Isaiah watched Victoria work. She was brilliant, compassionate, fierce when advocating for her kids. She hired staff who understood. A former foster youth as assistant director. A social worker who’d been homeless. A counselor who’d aged out herself. Together, they built something real. Apartments were secured.
20 units in Isaiah’s buildings, furnished, safe, affordable. Scholarships were distributed. GED programs, community college, vocational training, whatever each kid needed, job training began. Resume writing, interview skills, workplace etiquette. Then actual placements at partner companies, mental health services started, therapy, support groups, crisis intervention available 24/7.
Within 3 months, all 25 participants were housed. 18 were enrolled in education programs. 12 had part-time jobs. Marcus got his GED, started welding training, moved into his own apartment, called Victoria crying. I never thought I’d have my own place. You earned it, Marcus. Keep going. Every Friday, Isaiah and Victoria had dinner.
Sometimes strategy sessions, sometimes just dates. The line between professional and personal blurred, but it felt right. One evening, Victoria said, “I never thanked you properly.” For what? For believing I could do this. For trusting me with something so important. Isaiah took her hand. You gave me life. I’m giving you the resources to give life to others.
Victoria kissed him soft and sweet. I’m falling in love with you, Isaiah Mitchell. I’ve been in love with you for 22 years, Victoria Hayes. They laughed, held each other. Outside Chicago sparkled, full of possibility, and somewhere kids were getting help, getting hope, getting a second chance because two people kept a promise.
6 months passed. The Red Ribbon Initiative served 127 youth in its first half year, 89% retention rate. The national average was 40%. 67 participants enrolled in education or job training, 45 in stable housing, zero returns to homelessness. But numbers didn’t tell the real story. People did.
