Chapter 6
I didn't understand what a credit account was.
I only knew Dad looked frightened.
And grown-ups usually didn't look frightened unless something was very wrong.
I stood near the staircase.
"Daddy, did I do something bad?"
He immediately shook his head.
"No, princess."
I walked closer.
"Then why did someone use my name?"
Dad looked toward Aunt Rachel.
She pulled out a chair.
"Come sit with us, sweetheart."
I sat beside Dad.
He took my hand.
"Sometimes people try to use someone else's information to borrow money."
I frowned.
"Like pretending to be them?"
He nodded.
"Exactly."
My stomach tightened.
"Denise pretended to be me?"
Dad's expression softened.
"That's what we're investigating."
I stared at the table.
I remembered Denise asking me questions months earlier.
My birthday.
My school ID number.
Where Mommy used to work.
She said she needed the information for a family insurance form.
I thought it was normal.
Now I wasn't sure.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"She asked me to write my name on papers."
His face changed.
"What papers?"
I swallowed.
"She said she was practicing my signature with me."
Aunt Rachel sat straighter.
"When?"
I thought carefully.
"Maybe two months ago."
Dad's jaw tightened.
"Do you remember what the papers looked like?"
I nodded slowly.
"Some had lots of little boxes."
He looked at Rachel.
She immediately wrote something down.
I felt sick.
"Was that bad?"
Dad pulled me close.
"No, sweetheart."
I began crying.
"I didn't know."
"I know."
He held me tightly.
"You didn't do anything wrong."
For the next several days, our house felt like a busy office.
People called.
Documents arrived.
Dad spoke with banks.
Aunt Rachel helped organize records.
An attorney visited twice.
And someone from child protective services came to speak with me.
Her name was Ms. Angela.
She had a soft voice and wore a blue cardigan.
At first, I was afraid.
I thought she might take me away.
Denise had told me that if I ever complained, strangers would put me in a place where nobody loved me.
I remembered those words when Ms. Angela sat beside me.
"Hi, Maya."
I looked down.
"Hi."
She smiled.
"Your dad told me you've had a difficult time."
I nodded.
She didn't ask everything at once.
She asked about school.
My favorite food.
My friends.
Then she asked whether I felt safe at home.
I looked toward Dad.
He was sitting across the room.
His eyes were full of worry.
I took a breath.
"Now I do."
Ms. Angela nodded.
"That's good."
Then she asked what happened when Denise was home.
My hands trembled.
But I told her.
About cleaning.
About missing meals.
About the laundry room.
About the necklace.
About the money.
And about the times Denise threatened me.
I cried.
A lot.
But Ms. Angela never told me to hurry.
She listened.
She wrote notes.
And when I finished, she thanked me for being brave.
Then she said something that stayed with me.
"Maya, adults are responsible for taking care of children."
I looked up.
"Even when children make mistakes?"
She smiled gently.
"Especially then."
I began crying again.
I had spent months believing love was something I had to earn.
By cleaning.
By obeying.
By never complaining.
Now people kept telling me I deserved care simply because I was a child.
It felt strange.
Wonderful.
And difficult to believe.
A few days later, Dad took me to the doctor.
She examined my hands.
Asked about my sleep.
Checked my weight.
And spoke with Dad about what I'd been through.
I didn't understand every medical word.
But I understood when she said I needed rest, regular meals, and support.
Dad nodded.
"She'll get all of that."
I looked at him.
He squeezed my hand.
Afterward, we stopped at a small café.
Dad bought me pancakes.
With strawberries.
And whipped cream.
I stared at the plate.
Then looked at him.
"Can I eat it all?"
His face changed.
He reached across the table.
"Princess, you never have to ask permission to be hungry."
My eyes filled.
I picked up my fork.
For the first time in months, I ate without looking over my shoulder.
That afternoon, Dad received another call.
He listened quietly.
Then his expression hardened.
When he ended the call, Aunt Rachel asked what happened.
Dad looked toward me.
Then took a breath.
"Denise's brother has been contacted."
Aunt Rachel frowned.
"About the transfers?"
Dad nodded.
"He claims the money was a business investment."
"Was it?"
Dad shook his head.
"We're still finding out."
I watched them.
Then asked quietly, "Will Denise come back?"
Dad looked at me.
"No."
I swallowed.
"Promise?"
He knelt beside me.
"I promise we'll keep taking the steps needed to protect you."
I wanted him to say nothing bad would ever happen again.
But I could tell he was being careful.
And somehow, that made me trust him more.
That night, I sat in my bedroom drawing.
I hadn't drawn much since Denise moved in.
She said crayons made messes.
She threw away several of my pictures because they were cluttering the refrigerator.
Now Dad had bought me a new art set.
Colored pencils.
Markers.
Paint.
A big sketchbook.
I drew our house.
The cream sofa.
The blue sky.
Dad standing beside me.
Then I drew Aunt Rachel.
And Mommy as a star above the roof.
I was coloring the windows when Dad knocked.
"Hey, artist."
I smiled.
"Hi, Daddy."
He sat beside me.
"What are you drawing?"
"Our house."
He looked closely.
Then smiled.
"Who's the star?"
"Mommy."
His eyes filled.
He touched the page gently.
"She would've loved this."
I smiled.
Then I noticed something.
Dad was holding a small envelope.
My stomach tightened.
"What's that?"
He took a breath.
"Something the attorney found."
I looked at him.
He opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed Denise standing outside a jewelry store.
She was wearing Mommy's heart-shaped necklace.
And beside her stood a man I recognized.
Uncle Daniel.
Denise's brother.
May you like
Dad's expression hardened.
Then he said quietly, "Maya, we finally know who helped her take your mother's things."
