Daniel shifted in his chair.
“Mom, maybe tonight isn’t the best time for this conversation.”
Eleanor looked at him for a long moment.
He had not defended her. He had not told Celeste to stop. He had merely suggested that the timing of her humiliation was inconvenient.
Something inside Eleanor, something that had endured years of quiet disappointments, became very still.
“All right,” she said.
Celeste appeared surprised by the lack of resistance.
Eleanor folded her napkin carefully and placed it beside her plate. Then she looked at the untouched food, the polished silverware, and the expensive flowers that had arrived that afternoon.
“I think I understand the purpose of this dinner now.”
“Good,” Celeste replied. “Then we can finally be honest.”
“Yes,” Eleanor said. “We can.”
She reached for the worn leather envelope resting beside her handbag.
Celeste’s eyes immediately followed it.
“What is that?”
“Something I brought for Daniel.”
“Is it another sentimental letter?” Celeste asked. “Because if it is, I would rather not spend the rest of the evening listening to stories about a man who has been gone for six years.”
Daniel’s face tightened.
“Celeste, enough.”
But Eleanor had already opened the envelope.
Inside were several documents, a handwritten letter, and a small brass key tied with a faded blue ribbon. She looked at the key for a moment before returning it to its place.
“I had intended to give you something tonight,” she told Daniel. “Something your father and I spent many years preparing.”
Celeste’s expression changed.
“Something valuable?”
Eleanor looked directly at her.
“Something meaningful.”
“That sounds suspiciously like something that comes with strings attached.”
“It does not.”
“Then perhaps you should let Daniel decide whether he wants it.”
Eleanor turned to her son. “Do you?”
Daniel looked at the envelope, then at Celeste.
