Chapter 15 - MOTHER AND SON
Estelle and I became closer after the gala.
Then worse.
Then better.
Trauma does not always create clean intimacy.
For several months I hovered.
“Need help?”
“Where are you going?”
“Who is driving?”
“Did you take medication?”
“Are you tired?”
Finally she snapped:
“Leandro, I survived your father, three surgeries, the FBI outside my house, and your adolescence. Stop asking whether I can climb two stairs.”
I stopped.
Mostly.
Her geriatric assessment became annual because she wanted it.
No shame.
Age documented without weaponization.
One year she performed slightly worse on memory testing.
She laughed.
“Maribel will be furious she missed her chance.”
Dark.
Funny.
Then she made me promise something.
“When I actually need help, don’t pretend I don’t.”
Different from taking over early.
May you like
I promised.
That promise became important later.
