She introduced herself to me first, then to Evelyn, then peered into the bassinet with a smile.
“And this must be Noah,” she said.
“He’s been the calmest person in the room,” I said.
“Babies often are. They don’t know what paperwork is yet.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Maren pulled a chair near the bed. “Richard filled me in on the basics, but I want to hear from you directly. Only what you feel well enough to share.”
So I told her.
Not everything. Not every childhood slight, not every old wound. But enough. The phone call. My father refusing. Daniel finding the envelope. My mother’s reaction. The trust document. The photograph.
Maren listened without interrupting, taking notes in neat handwriting.
When I finished, she asked to see the envelope.
Richard handed it over.
Maren studied the trust addendum for a long moment. Then she removed a pair of reading glasses from her bag and read it again.
