Chương 9
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is not an agreement.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Then what determines it?”
“Sophie. Her therapist. Me. Whether you can acknowledge what you did without explaining why everyone else caused it.”
Eleanor sat back.
“You struck me.”
“Yes.”
“In public.”
“Yes.”
“Are you ever going to acknowledge that?”
“I already have.”
“You have justified it every time.”
Natalie paused.
That was true.
She looked at her mother’s face.
The bruise had long disappeared.
“I should not have slapped you.”
The room became quiet.
Even Rebecca looked at her.
Natalie continued.
“I was furious. I wanted to hurt you. So I hit you. That was wrong.”
Eleanor’s eyes moved slightly.
Natalie felt the old reflex rise—the need to soften, to add but you made me.
She did not.
“I’ll take responsibility for it,” Natalie said. “Without asking you to take yours first.”
Eleanor stared.
Natalie waited.
Nothing came.
Martin shifted a document.
Rebecca wrote one word on her legal pad and angled it toward Natalie.
Good.
Natalie nearly smiled.
Eleanor said, “You always did love moral theater.”
There it was.
The punishment for apologizing.
Natalie felt heat crawl up her neck.
This time she did not bite.
“I’m not asking you to admire me.”
“Then what exactly are you asking?”
“For you to tell the truth.”
“I did not order anyone to tape Sophie’s wrists.”
“You ordered him to keep her there.”
“Yes.”
“You watched.”
“I did not understand how tightly—”
“You heard her crying.”
Eleanor stopped.
Natalie leaned forward.
“You said she could survive five minutes.”
For the first time that day Eleanor looked visibly shaken.
Not because the words were new.
Because Natalie knew them.
“Where did you hear that?”
“There was audio.”
Eleanor looked at Martin.
He already knew.
That realization moved across her face slowly.
Her own lawyer had not warned her exactly what Natalie had.
Or had warned her, and Eleanor had chosen not to hear it.
Natalie said, “You stood beside my daughter while she was taped to furniture and decided her crying was manipulation.”
Eleanor’s hands tightened in her lap.
“I was angry.”
“So was I when I hit you.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
Natalie’s voice stayed quiet.
“It isn’t.”
The meeting ended without agreement.
Eleanor left first.
In the elevator Rebecca said, “That went badly.”
Natalie laughed.
“I thought lawyers were supposed to lie.”
“We prefer strategic optimism.”
“Do you think she’ll ever admit it?”
Rebecca looked at the floor numbers.
“Do you need her to?”
Natalie opened her mouth.
The answer, inconveniently, was yes.
Rebecca seemed to know.
“That may be the most expensive thing you’re still asking her for.”
Two days later the foundation board voted to remove Eleanor as chair.
She remained a trustee temporarily while governance documents were reviewed, but she lost operational authority.
The public statement was careful.
It referenced “conduct inconsistent with the organization’s safeguarding responsibilities” and the findings of an independent investigation.
It did not mention tape.
It did not mention Sophie.
It did not mention Natalie’s slap.
The internet hated the lack of detail.
For forty-eight hours, everyone became an expert.
Some people called Natalie a protective mother.
Others called her violent.
Some insisted Eleanor had been framed by ungrateful relatives.
A gossip account published photographs of Natalie’s condo and estimated its value.
Someone found Evan’s old DUI arrest from college and announced that the Brooks family had “a documented history of instability.”
Natalie sat at the breakfast table reading that sentence until Rebecca called.
“Stop reading.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’ve ignored three emails and opened the link I told you not to open.”
Natalie closed the page.
“I hate everyone.”
“That’s normal.”
“No, I mean globally.”
“Still normal.”
The foundation offered Natalie reinstatement.
She said no.
Thomas asked to meet her for coffee.
They met at a place near the office where the tables were too small and the music too loud.
Thomas looked older than he had a month earlier.
“I should’ve looked,” he said.
Natalie stared at him.
Rachel’s words.
“I should’ve looked.”
Thomas rubbed his coffee cup with both hands.
“I heard you yelling. Eleanor told me not to interfere. She said it was a family issue.”
“And you listened.”
“Yes.”
“Because she was chair.”
“Yes.”
“Because she could fire you.”
Thomas looked at her.
“Yes.”
Natalie appreciated the answer more than any apology.
He continued.
“I have two kids.”
“I know.”
“I keep thinking if someone—”
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
Natalie looked out the window.
A city bus hissed at the curb.
“You want me to come back.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t.”
“The board voted unanimously.”
“It’s not about the board.”
“Then what?”
Natalie took a drink.
“The foundation was my mother’s way of making every good thing conditional. Maybe she didn’t design it that way. Maybe I helped build it that way. I don’t know.”
Thomas looked frustrated.
“You’re good at your job.”
“I know.”
“That sounded arrogant.”
“It felt nice.”
He smiled.
Natalie continued.
“I need one thing in my life she can’t threaten to remove.”
“A job.”
“For a start.”
Thomas nodded.
Before leaving, he said, “For what it’s worth, I resigned too.”
Natalie stared.
“You did?”
“Effective next month.”
“Why?”
He shrugged.
“Apparently I should’ve looked.”
Natalie laughed.
It was the first time the phrase did not hurt.
Sophie started seeing a child therapist named Dr. Maya Reynolds.
After the third session, Dr. Reynolds asked Natalie whether Sophie could choose how to respond if Eleanor sent a letter.
“Has she?”
“Not yet.”
“Then why are we discussing it?”
“Because your mother’s attorney asked mine.”
Natalie hated how many adults surrounded Sophie’s feelings with legal intermediaries.
Dr. Reynolds said, “Sophie shouldn’t be responsible for repairing the relationship.”
“I agree.”
“But having no choice can also feel like another adult deciding everything.”
Natalie folded a tissue she had not used.
“What would you do?”
“I wouldn’t decide for you.”
May you like
“That is an infuriating professional habit.”
“I’ve worked hard on it.”
