He looked toward the shaved section of my hair.
“She could’ve hurt you.”
“Yes.”
His face crumpled.
“What if you woke up?”
“I don’t know.”
“What if she cut you?”
“She didn’t.”
“What if she—”
“Michael.”
He stopped.
“We deal with what happened.”
“Not every nightmare your brain can invent afterward.”
He closed his eyes.
Then:
“The money.”
I almost laughed.
He immediately held up both hands.
“That came out badly.”
“Extremely.”
“I mean what happens to it?”
“It stays where it is.”
“Good.”
“You say that now.”
“I mean it.”
He looked toward the ballroom.
“I don’t want it.”
“That would be another impulsive decision.”
“It feels dirty.”
“The money did nothing.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“I also know allowing her actions to permanently define twenty-two million dollars gives her remarkable power.”
He looked at me.
“How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Separate things.”
“I don’t.”
“I try.”
He nodded.
Then whispered:
“Did you ever dislike her?”
I thought carefully.
“Sometimes.”
He gave me a look.
“I mean before this.”
“So do I.”
I smiled.
“I disliked things she did occasionally.”
“She disliked things I did.”
“That is family.”
“Did you think she wanted my money?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“I thought she cared too much about financial security.”
“That is not the same.”
He stared at his hands.
“Was I blind?”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“You want me to tell you yes because punishment feels useful right now.”
He looked up.
I continued.
“You were in love.”
“People in love interpret ambiguity generously.”
“That is one of love’s best qualities until it becomes one of its risks.”
He swallowed.
“I feel stupid.”
“I know.”
“You aren’t.”
He leaned his head against my shoulder.
He had not done that since his father died.
I sat still.
For a few minutes, the ballroom disappeared.
My son was nineteen again.
Grieving.
Trying to understand how a life could change overnight.
I had no better answer now than then.
So I stayed.
Near midnight, police asked whether I would come upstairs for a second statement.
I agreed.
Michael wanted to come.
I told him not to.
My attorney joined me instead.
The investigators had collected the clippers.
They had photographed the borrowed staff credential records.
They had the sister’s video.
They had the note.
They had printer logs showing a document had been printed from the bridal floor’s business center around 12:43 a.m.
No one claimed that proved Sabrina printed the note.
Not yet.
Police were doing what I wanted everyone to do.
Separate inference from fact.
I told them everything.
The sleep medication.
The rehearsal dinner.
The gift structure.
The call with Michael.
The note.
The reception.