That almost made me smile.
My son had apparently concluded that age meant a duller mind.
Gray hair meant frailty.
Grief meant confusion.
He had forgotten who taught him to balance his first checking account.
Who caught him taking twenty dollars from my purse at fourteen because he had put the remaining bills back facing the wrong direction.
Who had once uncovered a multimillion-dollar pension fraud because three numbers on a quarterly report did not reconcile.
Patterns had been my work.
And Michael had left patterns everywhere.
Judge Bennett looked at the empty chair beside me.
“Mrs. Parker, you are representing yourself today?”
“For this hearing, yes.”
Gregory allowed the faintest relieved smile.
I saw it.
So did the judge.
“But I didn’t come unprepared.”
I slid a folder toward the clerk.
The first page was an evaluation completed by Dr. Rebecca Collins, a board-certified neurologist specializing in geriatric cognitive health.
