“He’d have been so ashamed of me,” Emerson whispered.
“Your father made his share of mistakes,” Rosalind said from the doorway.
“The difference is that he never ran from them.”
“Do you think you’ll ever trust me again, Mom?”
She touched the silk scarf she now wore over her head; underneath, her hair had begun to return, a fine, brave shadow of silver.
“I don’t know the answer to that yet,” she said honestly.
“But I’m here.
And you’re here.
That’s a start.”
A year later, she used part of the money once meant for the trust to establish a foundation: the Frederick Ashworth Foundation for the Protection of Elderly Assets, offering legal and financial defense to seniors facing exploitation by their own families.