And time.
A year after I came home, Phedra and I sat outside a small rented house near the coast. Her hair had begun growing back in soft curls. She had gained weight. Her doctors described her response to treatment as encouraging and her disease as controlled. We celebrated those words instead of demanding bigger ones.
I made tea and brought it outside.
She looked at me.
“Arthur called?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“The last civil matter settled.”
She waited.
“We’re done.”
Phedra exhaled slowly.
“With them?”
“With court.”
She understood the distinction.
Selina was still my mother.
Godfrey was still my brother.
Biology survived things relationships did not.
Neither had access to our finances, our home or Phedra.
Whether I would ever have some limited relationship with them was a question I stopped forcing myself to answer.
Phedra reached for my hand.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Why didn’t you tell them immediately that the million was protected?”
