Chapter 10 - Completely Ours
I keep the vintage brooch in a small case in my office now only when my mother travels.
She says she lets me “babysit” it because I still need reminders.
On the back of the case, she taped a note.
Elias,
Do not confuse protecting me with proving yourself.
Also, eat lunch.
Mom.
That note has probably saved more people than the bridge loan did.
On the fifth anniversary of the courtyard, my mother and I walked through the Ward-Eleanor Center together after closing.
The fountain ran quietly under the evening lights.
No guests.
No cameras.
No champagne.
Just water moving over marble.
She stopped beside it.
Then, without warning, dipped one hand in.
“Mom?”
She flicked water at me.
I stared.
She smiled.
“Now it’s funny.”
I laughed.
Harder than I expected.
She laughed too.
The sound echoed through the courtyard, warm and unpolished and completely ours.
For once, the fountain held no humiliation.
Only water.
May you like
Only light.
Only a mother and son standing in a place that once tried to shrink her and now carried her name.
