Chapter Twenty Five
Eleanor Wolfe arrived on a Tuesday. I knew because the doorman called up. Because Ms. Vane texted a warning. Because Adrian went pale when I mentioned her name, like a man who'd seen a ghost. "You don't have to see her," I said. "She's my mother." "She left you." "She's still my mother." I didn't argue. Just took his hand and waited. --- She was smaller than I expected. Not in stature—she was tall, elegant, the kind of woman who'd been beautiful once and was still beautiful now, in a sharper, harder way. But she seemed... diminished. Like the years had worn her down to something fragile. "Adrian." She stood in the doorway of the penthouse, coat in hand, expression uncertain. "You look well." "I look the same." "Older." "We all age." The silence stretched. I stepped forward.
- Writer
