Chapter 8
I went to Tasha's apartment the next morning.
She opened the door looking exhausted.
Her eyes were swollen.
A half-empty cup of tea sat on the kitchen counter.
I hugged her.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded.
"Just tired."
We sat on the sofa.
She showed me the messages Mom had sent after leaving.
Ungrateful daughter.
You have no idea what I sacrificed.
Nia has turned you against me.
I felt anger rising.
The same phrases.
The same guilt.
The same attempt to make us responsible for her choices.
I looked at Tasha.
"You don't have to answer."
She nodded.
"I know."
Then she whispered, "It's strange."
"What?"
"For the first time, I don't feel like I need to convince Mom that I'm a good daughter."
My throat tightened.
"How does that feel?"
She considered the question.
"Sad."
I nodded.
"But also peaceful."
I smiled faintly.
"That sounds familiar."
We spent the afternoon reviewing our father's letters.
Some were funny.
Others were heartbreaking.
He wrote about teaching me to swim.
About Tasha's first steps.
About wanting us to become independent women who treated each other with kindness.
One letter contained a sentence that made us both cry.
If you ever disagree, remember that you are sisters before you are competitors.
I laughed through my tears.
"Dad would hate what Mom turned us into."
Tasha shook her head.
"He'd hate that we let it continue."
I looked at her.
"We were children."
She nodded.
"We were."
That distinction mattered.
We had been raised in a home where affection was unequal.
Where one daughter was praised for needing help.
And the other was praised only when she provided it.
We had adapted to survive.
Now we had the chance to choose differently.
A week later, Samuel called.
The investigation had uncovered additional records.
Diane had used a portion of the old savings account to purchase a property after our father's death.
The property was registered in her name.
Later, she refinanced it and used proceeds for personal expenses.
The records suggested that some withdrawals were inconsistent with the purposes for which the money had been held.
I felt sick.
But Samuel remained careful.
"The investigation will determine what was authorized, what was improper, and what legal remedies are available."
I nodded.
"Does this affect my inheritance?"
"The sixty thousand dollars remains protected."
I finally breathed.
"What about Tasha?"
"Her attorney is reviewing potential claims related to funds intended for her benefit."
I looked at my sister.
She was sitting beside me.
For the first time, she didn't look frightened.
She looked determined.
"I want accountability," she said.
Samuel nodded.
"That's reasonable."
The legal process moved forward.
Diane retained an attorney.
Victor cooperated with investigators.
The financial records were examined by independent specialists.
And the disputed documents were submitted for forensic review.
The evidence supported allegations that Diane had attempted to redirect my inheritance through unauthorized paperwork.
Other financial transactions were investigated separately.
I attended meetings when necessary.
I gave statements.
I preserved messages.
But I refused to let the case consume my entire life.
Marcus and I continued planning our wedding.
We selected a small garden venue outside Atlanta.
White roses.
Soft music.
A simple ceremony surrounded by people who genuinely loved us.
Tasha offered to help.
I hesitated.
Then she smiled.
"I promise I won't ask you for sixty thousand dollars."
I burst out laughing.
It was the first time we had joked about the engagement party.
Tasha laughed too.
Then her expression softened.
"I really am sorry, Nia."
I reached for her hand.
"I know."
She swallowed.
"I want to be your maid of honor."
My eyes filled with tears.
I stared at her.
"Are you serious?"
She nodded.
"Very."
I smiled.
"Then I'd love that."
She hugged me so tightly that I nearly fell backward.
For the first time in years, I felt like I had a sister.
Not a rival.
Not someone I was expected to support without question.
A sister.
Someone who could stand beside me because she wanted to.
Not because Mom told her to.
Then the next challenge arrived.
My mother sent me a handwritten letter.
I almost threw it away.
But Marcus suggested I read it when I felt ready.
I waited until the following evening.
Then I opened it.
Nia,
You have embarrassed me in front of the entire family.
You have allowed strangers to investigate private matters.
You have poisoned Tasha against me.
I was disappointed before reaching the next paragraph.
Then I saw it.
If you want me at your wedding, you will withdraw your accusations and give Tasha the money.
I stared at the sentence.
My mother was still bargaining with affection.
Still using my wedding as leverage.
Still treating the inheritance as something she could demand.
I folded the letter.
Then I called Samuel.
He advised me to preserve it.
After the call, I sat quietly.
Marcus entered the room.
"What did she say?"
I handed him the letter.
He read it.
Then he looked at me.
"I'm sorry."
I shook my head.
"Don't be."
He looked surprised.
I took a breath.
"For years, I thought if I could explain myself clearly enough, Mom would understand."
I looked at the letter.
"Now I know she understands exactly what she's doing."
Marcus sat beside me.
"What do you want?"
I considered the question.
Then I answered honestly.
"I want a wedding where nobody threatens me."
He smiled gently.
"Then that's what we'll have."
I leaned against him.
For the first time, I didn't feel guilty about excluding my mother.
I felt sad.
But sadness wasn't the same as uncertainty.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Tasha.
Nia, I just found something in Dad's old storage box.
I sat upright.
Another message appeared.
It's a recording of Mom talking to Grandpa.
My heart began pounding.
May you like
Then Tasha sent one final sentence.
I think Grandpa confronted her before he died, and I think she admitted everything.
