And the way my name disappeared from every conversation afterward.
Andrew looked at the folder in my hand.
“Why did you keep all of this?”
“Because I learned a long time ago that gratitude is not a record.”
His eyes filled with something I could not yet call regret.
Perhaps it was only shock.
Perhaps it was the first fragile beginning of understanding.
Ruth moved toward us.
“Mara, this is not the time to rewrite our family history.”
I turned to her.
“I’m not rewriting anything.”
“I’m putting back the parts you removed.”
For once, she had no immediate answer.
Judge Porter’s clerk called for everyone to clear the courtroom.
I walked toward the doors.
Andrew followed me as far as the corridor.
“Mara, wait.”
I stopped but did not turn around.
“Did you sign anything else without telling me?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you act as though the agreement was valid?”
