“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Nora didn’t look away.
“Your grandfather asked for time to gather records and explain it with me present.
Then he was hospitalized.
I should have spoken to you directly sooner.”
The apology surprised me.
No excuses.
No claim that my confusion was my fault.
“He wanted to spare you another hurt,” she added.
“That doesn’t mean keeping you in the dark was the right choice.”
I looked at the empty armchair.
For the first time since he died, I felt anger beside the grief.
Not enough to erase the love.
Enough to make it human.
Nora slid a document toward me.
There was my name.
My birthday.
And beneath them, descriptions of a stranger.
Socially isolated.
Unable to maintain employment.
Dependent on others for basic daily decisions.
A history of unstable behavior.
“I’ve worked at the bakery for four years.”
Dad shifted.
