It would be decided if a broken family could heal.
Or if some fractures are too deep to repair.
On Monday at 9:30 in the morning, I arrived at Notary Selenus’s office.
Megan accompanied me, her leather briefcase full of documents.
She looked like a movie lawyer.
Black pants suit.
Heels.
Hair tied back in a perfect bun.
“Ready, Aunt B?” she asked as we climbed the stairs of the colonial building in downtown Coyoakan.
“Ready.”
Mr. Hector welcomed us into his office with its high ceilings and old mahogany furniture.
It smelled of old books and coffee.
“Mrs. Betty,” he greeted me with a fatherly hug. “I’m so sorry things have come to this.”
“Me too, my friend. But here we are.”
We sat down.
The clock read 9:47.
At 9:52, we heard footsteps on the stairs.
The door opened.
Daniel came in first.
He was wearing a gray suit, a dark tie, as if he were going to a funeral.
