She watched her granddaughter move food around her plate without eating much.
“Are you unwell?”
Hannah shook her head.
“No.”
“Something at school?”
“No.”
Greta looked toward Claudia.
Claudia hesitated.
“We’ve had some financial difficulties.”
Greta set down her fork.
“What kind?”
Pieter explained that his job had ended and that they were reconsidering their ability to fund Hannah’s studies.
He spoke carefully, without dramatising the situation.
He did not want his mother to think they were asking for money.
Greta listened without interrupting.
When he finished, she looked at Hannah.
“Do you still want to go?”
Hannah stared at her plate.
“Yes.”
“Have you changed your mind about the course?”
“No.”
“Then why are you looking so miserable?”
Hannah gave a short, bitter laugh.
“Because wanting something doesn’t pay for it, Grandma.”
Greta was quiet.
Hannah regretted the tone immediately.
But she was tired, frightened, and ashamed of wanting something her family might not be able to afford.
Greta folded her napkin.
“Come back tomorrow afternoon.”
Pieter frowned.
“Mum?”
“Bring the fee schedule.”
Hannah looked up.
“Why?”
“I’d like to see it.”
Pieter shook his head.
“You don’t need to worry about this.”
Greta looked at him.
“I didn’t ask whether I needed to worry.”
“Mum, we’ve got it under control.”
“Then you won’t mind showing me the numbers.”
Pieter sighed.
He had been hearing instructions from his mother for forty-eight years.
Even now, exhausted and worried, he recognised when arguing would be pointless.
“All right.”
Greta nodded.
“Good.”
Then she passed the bowl of potatoes.
“Eat something, Hannah. Worrying on an empty stomach doesn’t improve the arithmetic.”
For the first time that afternoon, Hannah almost smiled.
The next day, Hannah arrived with her parents shortly after four.
Greta had prepared tea and a plate of small butter biscuits.
She was wearing her good navy cardigan, the one she usually reserved for appointments and family celebrations.
The dining table had been cleared.
No newspapers.
No sewing.
No jars of buttons.
Hannah noticed the unusual tidiness.
“Are we having a meeting?”
Greta glanced at her.
“Something like that.”
Pieter placed a printed sheet on the table.
It listed the academy’s tuition fees over four years, estimated increases, and the payment schedule.
They had also prepared a separate budget for accommodation, food, transport, materials, and other living expenses.
Greta put on her reading glasses.
She examined the figures carefully.
“Have you asked about scholarships?”
“Yes,” Hannah said.
“And public grants?”
“We’re checking eligibility.”
“Student accommodation?”
“I’ve applied.”
Greta nodded.
“Good.”
She studied the page again.
Then she stood.
“I’ll be a moment.”
Hannah looked toward her father.
He shrugged.
They heard Greta moving around in the bedroom.
A drawer opened.
Then another.
Something metal scraped against the floor.
A few minutes later, Greta returned carrying a rectangular tin box.
It had once contained biscuits.
The lid was faded blue, decorated with a picture of white flowers that had worn away in places.
Rust marked two corners.
She placed it on the table.
Hannah stared.
“I’ve seen that box.”
Greta nodded.
“Probably.”
She sat down.
Her fingers rested on the lid for a moment.
Then she opened it.
Inside were several small cloth bags, a collection of coins, envelopes, and a bundle of savings documents tied with string.
Pieter leaned forward.
“Mum, what’s all this?”
Greta removed the documents.
“Read them.”
He took the first.
It was an old savings record.
The account holder was Greta Weiss.
The opening date was the Friday following Hannah’s birth.
The first deposit was twenty euros.
Pieter looked at the date.
Then at his mother.
“What is this?”
Greta folded her hands.
“A savings account.”
“I can see that.”
“For Hannah.”
Hannah looked up.
“What?”
Greta nodded toward the documents.
“Go on.”
Pieter began reading.
There were years of small deposits.
Some were twenty euros.
Some twenty-five.
Others thirty or forty.
Occasionally, larger sums appeared after periods when Greta had completed extra sewing work.
There were transfers into later savings products after the original account was replaced.
The records did not represent a magical multiplication of loose change. Greta had saved consistently, earned additional money, and kept those funds separate from her ordinary spending for nearly eighteen years.
Pieter turned another page.
Then another.
His expression changed.
“Mum…”
Greta looked at him.
“What?”
“You’ve been putting money away every week.”
“Most weeks.”
“Since Hannah was born.”
“Yes.”
He stared at the figures.
“Every Friday?”
Greta smiled faintly.
“It was easy to remember.”
Hannah looked from her father to her grandmother.
She felt as though the room had shifted slightly.
All those Fridays.
All those years.
Her grandmother visiting the bank.
The jars of coins.
The sewing work.
The discounted groceries.
The repaired clothes.
The little savings accounts nobody had thought to ask about.
Pieter checked the current balance shown on the latest statement.
Then he checked it again.
Claudia leaned forward.
“How much is there?”
He told her.
The amount was substantial enough to cover the four years of tuition shown on Hannah’s fee schedule, with a modest allowance for possible increases.
It would not pay for everything.
Hannah would still need to budget carefully for rent, transport, food, and supplies. Scholarships, her own work, and her parents’ contributions would remain important.
But the largest obstacle had been removed.
Pieter looked at his mother.
“How did you do this?”
Greta shrugged.
“A little at a time.”
“Mum, this is not a little.”
“It was when I put it in.”
He looked at the records again.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Greta glanced toward Hannah.
“Because it wasn’t needed yet.”
Hannah stared at her.
She tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
Her grandmother reached for the fee schedule.
“There’s enough for the tuition, provided those figures are accurate. You’ll still have to manage the rest.”
Hannah looked at the box.
