CHAPTER 7: A DIFFERENT CHRISTMAS MORNING
June woke at my parents’ house beneath a quilt stitched by my grandmother. She asked whether we could still have pancakes. We could. We made them with blueberries, and my father burned the first batch, just as he had when I was small. Ordinary things felt almost sacred. After breakfast I told June, in language she could understand, that her father and I would live separately while grown-ups worked through important decisions. She asked whether the little boy was really her brother. “He may be,” I said. “We will find out, and none of this changes how much you matter.” She thought for a moment. “Grandma Lenora likes boys better.” I wanted to deny it, but June had years of evidence. “Some adults are unfair,” I said. “That is their failure, not yours.” Later, Helena called with an update. A property search showed a recently filed notice associated with an unfamiliar holding company. It was not proof of a completed transfer, but it was enough to require immediate attention. She had also found a request to change the administrator of June’s education trust. The request used a scanned signature that appeared to be mine. I remembered Grant asking me to sign a stack of routine forms after dinner, his finger marking the pages he wanted me to skip. I had refused because I was tired. Apparently he had decided he could do without my consent. I held the phone tightly and watched June build a paper rocket with her grandfather. She was ten years old. She should have been worrying about whether the rocket would fly, not whether her father could erase her future.
