Part 2: Two days later, we met inside the mahogany office of Mr. Henderson, the estate attorney. The room smelled of old documents and greed.
My parents sat together on the leather sofa, holding hands and looking eager. I sat alone in a stiff wooden chair near the corner. I was Elena, the strange daughter who had left home, the one who did not marry a doctor or a banker, the one whose job my mother described as “something government-related and dull.”
Mr. Henderson cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.
