“Maybe it would be better if we all had some space.”
Eleanor nodded once.
“All right.”
She picked up her coat, placed the envelope securely in her handbag, and walked toward the door.
Neither of them followed.
At the threshold, she paused. She had not planned to say anything else, but one thought remained too important to leave unspoken.
“Daniel, your father once told me that the way a person treats someone who cannot offer them anything is the clearest measure of their character.”
Celeste rolled her eyes.
“Please don’t turn this into a lecture.”
Eleanor ignored her.
“I hope you remember that before you make any decisions you cannot undo.”
Then she walked out into the rain.
The cold air touched her face, and for several seconds she stood beneath the porch light without moving.
She could hear the muffled sounds of the dinner continuing behind the closed door. A chair scraped. Celeste laughed. Daniel said something she could not make out.
Eleanor closed her eyes.
For years, she had told herself that Daniel’s hesitation was temporary. He was tired, she reasoned. He was in love. He would eventually recognize that Celeste’s sharpness was insecurity and that her demands came from fear.
But standing outside that house, with rain collecting on her coat, Eleanor finally admitted what she had been avoiding.
Her son was not merely failing to notice the damage.
He was allowing it.
She walked to her car, sat behind the steering wheel, and rested both hands on it until the trembling stopped.
Then she took out her phone and called Samuel Price, the attorney who had represented her family for thirty-two years.
He answered on the second ring.
“Eleanor? Is everything all right?”
“No,” she said. “But it is finally clear.”
There was a brief silence.
“Have they asked you to sign the documents?”
“Yes.”
“And did you?”
“No.”
“Good. Do not sign anything tonight. I will come to your house tomorrow morning, and we will review everything together.”
