Then the one from the rocking chair where I had held both my children as babies.
I placed the three pieces of tape on the coffee table.
“I am still alive.”
Corinne started crying.
This time, I did not rush to comfort her.
For forty years, I had softened every consequence for my children.
Edmund had been kinder than I was.
He helped people who had nowhere else to turn.
But he also understood that kindness did not require pretending selfishness was love.
A month later, I moved Edmund’s files into a small office downtown and began working with the trust.
Every week, applications arrived.
Medical bills.
Tuition requests.
Families who needed one impossible month made slightly less impossible.
Wesley and Corinne called several times.
I answered when I wanted to.
I did not punish them.
But I stopped rescuing them from discomfort.
Maya came by one Saturday.
She stood nervously in my office doorway.
