We stepped into the courthouse hallway.
The sound of people talking echoed against the polished floor.
For several seconds, Mom said nothing.
Then she looked at me.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
I knew exactly what she meant.
Not the inheritance.
My career.
My professional life.
Everything Judge Morrison had read aloud.
I stared at her.
“I did.”
She shook her head.
“Not like that.”
“What would have been enough, Mom?”
She looked away.
I waited.
I thought about every graduation announcement.
Every invitation.
Every family dinner when I’d started describing my work and been interrupted.
“I told you when I passed the bar,” I said. “I told you when I became a judge advocate. I told you when I was promoted. You congratulated me, and then you asked whether my brother’s business was doing well.”
Her face tightened.
“We were busy.”
“I know.”
“We didn’t realize—”
