Estella let out a breath that sounded like a sob. I heard her reach for a tissue. Judge Brenner’s eyes crinkled into a smile, gentle and full of approval.
“Well then,” he said quietly, “I think we have our answer.”
Outside in the parking lot, the air felt warmer than it had that morning. I leaned against the car to adjust the strap of my shoe, but my hands shook so much I gave up halfway.
My son came around the other side, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a folded tissue. He held it out without saying a word.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I said.
“You’re welcome, Mom.”
It was only the second time I had ever heard him speak. But the way he said it—calm, certain—told me he was done hiding.
That night, I made his favorite dinner. He didn’t say much at the table, but he sat close and cleared his plate.
“You’re welcome, Mom.”
