Chapter 7
Agatha did not care about succession as much as control.
Her motive was simpler.
She hated that Noah came to me for comfort.
Whenever he cried, he asked for Mommy.
Whenever he was frightened, he ran toward my council room.
Agatha saw that as proof I was raising him weak.
“You always pick him up,” she said.
“He is four.”
“You answer every cry.”
“Yes.”
“You interrupt meetings for him.”
“Yes.”
She looked disgusted.
“A leader cannot be ruled by a child.”
There it was.
Not concern for Noah.
Fear of my priorities.
My mother had spent years believing leadership required emotional distance.
My son disproved that simply by existing.
I could run a room and still kneel when he cried.
To Agatha, those truths could not coexist.
So she set out to separate them.
“She told staff not to bring him to me,” I said.
No denial.
“She withheld food when he asked.”
Silence.
“She let him believe wanting his mother was shameful.”
Her face hardened.
“You are making him dependent.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
May you like
“I’m making sure he knows dependence at four is not a crime.”
That sentence ended whatever remained between us.
