True story. At the trust meeting, my daughter said: “She has no say.” I reached into my bag and…

wrote a letter.

Not to my daughter.

Not yet, or maybe not ever, but I wrote it anyway because some things need to be said even when you don’t know yet who you’re saying them to.

I wrote that I understood what she thought she was doing.

I understood the reasoning, the quiet arithmetic of it.

Gerald was dying. He had no children. There would be money. And continue reading …