Chapter 13 - ADELAIDE'S RULES
My mother created rules for her condo.
Rule one:
No one enters without ringing, even me.
Rule two:
No staff member reports her groceries, visitors, or medication habits to me unless emergency or she authorizes.
Rule three:
No one uses the phrase “at your age” unless discussing Social Security.
Rule four:
If she falls, tell me.
I insisted.
She agreed.
Then she fell.
Six months later.
Bathroom.
Bruised hip.
No fracture.
She pressed emergency pendant.
Called me herself.
At hospital she said:
“Don't look triumphant.”
“I don't.”
“You do.”
I was terrified.
Different.
Then Dr. Bell recommended physical therapy and another safety review.
This time Adelaide chose it.
Grab bars.
Shower seat.
No relocation.
Then she said:
“Selene would feel vindicated.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because needing help isn't the same as losing choice.”
She smiled.
“Therapy made you annoying.”
Correct.
Then the family trust modernization.
With Adelaide no longer resident, the two-year professional stewardship period began according to Matteo's guidance voluntarily adopted through court modification.
No spouse alternate.
No family shortcut.
At end, I could petition to serve or nominate another.
I chose permanent professional administration for residence assets.
Why?
I did not want the job.
Progress.
The Carbone family council objected.
“What about legacy?”
I said:
“Legacy can hire accountants.”
Then south parcel became conservation project.
Adelaide donated some of her personal funds toward garden memorial for Matteo and my siblings.
No giant statues.
Trees.
Benches.
Then Selene's life.
Occasional news through public channels.
She opened a small event-design company.
Successful enough.
No Carbone clients.
She did not violate probation.
Completed service.
No further charges.
People online called her “the mop-water wife” after court video leaked.
Cruel.
She sued no one.
Could not control internet.
I felt uncomfortable.
Consequences should not become permanent public entertainment.
Then I asked our PR people never to feed stories.
Good.
Then Adelaide saw a tabloid photo.
“She looks older.”
“Mother.”
“What?”
Human.
Then:
“Do you miss her?”
I thought.
“Yes.”
Mother stared.
“After all?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“If you said no, fourteen years would become another lie.”
That was wise.
Then:
“Do you?”
“Miss fighting with her?”
“Maybe.”
Adelaide laughed.
“Sometimes.”
People are strange.
Then Christmas.
Selene not invited.
No reason yet.
Adelaide came from condo.
Clara visited briefly.
Family dinner smaller.
At one point Mother looked at the empty chair beside me.
“You need a girlfriend.”
“No.”
“At your age—”
“Rule three.”
She threw a roll at me.
No violence program required.
Then Matteo's letter came up.
Mother said:
“Your father loved controlling people with documents.”
“He also protected you.”
“Yes.”
“Both.”
“Yes.”
The trust had helped.
The trust had also prolonged the house's emotional power.
No founder was pure wisdom.
Then Mother said:
“When I die, don't make that house a shrine.”
“I won't.”
“Sell it if you want.”
“Trustees decide some.”
“See? Your father is still annoying.”
We laughed.
Then she became serious.
“Don't let Selene become the worst thing that happened in that house.”
“What should?”
“Nothing. Houses don't need stories.”
That sentence stayed.
Because for months I had walked through those halls seeing dirty water.
Suitcases.
Red folder.
May you like
Eventually I needed to see walls again.
Just walls.
