Chapter 4
The next morning, Dad took me to Aunt Denise's house.
He said we needed somewhere quiet while he spoke with an attorney.
I didn't understand why an attorney needed to be involved.
I thought lawyers were for criminals or people getting divorced.
But Dad looked worried when he mentioned the papers I'd signed.
Aunt Denise made pancakes.
She put strawberries on mine.
Then she sat beside me at the kitchen table.
"How are you feeling?"
I shrugged.
"I don't know."
She smiled sadly.
"That's okay."
I looked at my plate.
"Is Dad going to stop loving Vanessa?"
Aunt Denise took a breath.
"That's something your father has to work through."
I swallowed.
"Is it because of me?"
She immediately shook her head.
"No, sweetheart."
I looked down.
"But if I hadn't told him—"
She gently lifted my chin.
"Nia, your father needs to know when someone hurts you. That's not something you should ever feel guilty about."
I nodded.
But guilt didn't disappear just because someone said it shouldn't be there.
Later that morning, Dad arrived with a woman named Attorney Simone Parker.
She wore a gray suit and carried a folder.
She smiled when she saw me.
"Hello, Nia."
"Hi."
Dad sat beside me.
Simone explained that she needed to ask a few questions.
She promised I could take breaks whenever I wanted.
I nodded.
She placed a blank sheet of paper on the table.
"Do you remember signing your name for Vanessa?"
"Yes."
"How many times?"
I thought carefully.
"Maybe four."
Dad closed his eyes.
Simone remained calm.
"Did she read the papers to you?"
I shook my head.
"She said they were boring grown-up things."
"Did you understand what signing meant?"
"No."
I looked at Dad.
"Was I supposed to?"
His eyes filled.
"No, baby."
Simone asked whether Vanessa had given me anything afterward.
I remembered a packet of cookies.
She'd placed it in front of me and told me not to mention the papers to Dad.
When I told Simone, she wrote something down.
Then she asked whether I recognized any words from the documents.
I closed my eyes.
I remembered one heading.
It had been printed in large letters.
"Something about benefits."
Dad sat straighter.
"What benefits?"
I shook my head.
"I don't know."
Simone looked at him.
"We'll need to identify the documents before drawing conclusions."
He nodded.
But his hands were trembling.
Afterward, Aunt Denise took me outside.
We sat beneath a tree in her backyard.
She didn't ask questions.
She just sat beside me while I watched the birds.
That was one of the things I loved about Aunt Denise.
She never made silence feel wrong.
By lunchtime, Dad's attorney had contacted several offices.
She discovered that someone had recently submitted requests for information connected to a benefit account established after my mother's death.
My mother, Renee Carter, had worked as a school counselor.
When she died, she'd left money intended for my education and future needs.
I'd never known about it.
Dad said he'd been saving it until I was older.
That afternoon, he explained it to me.
"Your mom wanted you to have opportunities."
I looked at him.
"Like college?"
He smiled sadly.
"Exactly."
I thought about Vanessa calling me expensive.
A burden.
An extra mouth to feed.
Then I asked, "Was that money supposed to pay for me?"
Dad looked confused.
"What do you mean?"
"Vanessa said you spent too much money on me."
His expression broke.
"Nia, taking care of you is my responsibility."
I swallowed.
"But she said—"
He interrupted gently.
"Your mother saved that money because she loved you. Not because you were a problem."
My eyes filled.
He pulled me close.
"I'm sorry you were made to feel that way."
I held him tightly.
That evening, Dad received more information.
Some documents had been submitted using his electronic credentials.
He said he hadn't authorized them.
The requests involved changing the contact details and access arrangements for my education account.
The provider had flagged the changes for additional verification.
Nothing had been transferred.
But Dad looked shaken.
He told Aunt Denise that Vanessa had sometimes handled household paperwork while he worked.
He'd trusted her.
Now he was questioning everything.
I overheard him saying, "I gave her access to our files."
Aunt Denise replied, "You trusted your wife."
Dad sounded defeated.
"I should have checked."
I wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault.
But part of me was angry.
Because I'd spent so long trying to tell him without speaking.
I'd become quiet.
I'd stopped asking for things.
I'd started wearing sweaters even when it was hot.
And Dad hadn't noticed.
That hurt.
The following day, he asked whether I wanted to talk to a counselor.
I was frightened at first.
Vanessa used to say children who spoke to counselors were troublemakers.
But Dad explained that counseling was a place where I could talk about my feelings safely.
I agreed to try.
My counselor's name was Dr. Alicia Grant.
She had kind eyes and colorful pillows in her office.
During our first meeting, she asked me to draw my family.
I drew Dad.
Then Jordan.
Then Chloe.
Then myself.
I left a space where Vanessa should have been.
Dr. Grant looked at the picture.
"Tell me about the space."
I shrugged.
"I don't know where she belongs."
She nodded.
"That's a complicated feeling."
I looked at her.
"Am I bad for missing her?"
She shook her head.
"No."
I felt tears gathering.
"Sometimes she was nice."
"Can you tell me about those times?"
I remembered her helping me braid my hair once.
Buying me ice cream after a school performance.
Calling me pretty when Dad was watching.
Those moments confused me.
Because someone who could be kind sometimes had also hurt me.
Dr. Grant listened.
Then she explained that missing good moments didn't mean I had to accept being hurt.
I sat quietly.
For the first time, I began understanding that love wasn't supposed to depend on whether I obeyed perfectly.
That evening, Dad picked me up.
We drove in silence for several minutes.
Then he asked, "How was it?"
I shrugged.
"Okay."
He nodded.
"You don't have to tell me what you talked about."
I looked at him.
"Really?"
"Really."
I stared out the window.
Then I whispered, "Dad?"
"Yes?"
"Did you know Vanessa didn't like me?"
His hands tightened around the steering wheel.
He pulled into a safe parking area.
Then he turned toward me.
"I knew you two sometimes struggled."
I swallowed.
"But did you know she was mean?"
He looked down.
"I didn't understand how bad it was."
I felt anger rise.
"She told me not to tell you."
He nodded.
"I know."
"But sometimes I cried when you came home."
His eyes filled.
"Yes."
"And you said I was tired."
He covered his face.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered, "You're right."
I stared at him.
He looked directly at me.
"I missed signs I should have taken seriously."
My tears fell.
"I thought you didn't care."
His face crumpled.
"I care more than anything."
I shook my head.
"But you didn't see."
He nodded slowly.
"No. I didn't."
He didn't argue.
He didn't blame me.
He didn't tell me I was imagining things.
He just sat there and let me be angry.
Then he said, "I'm going to spend as long as it takes showing you that I'm listening now."
I wanted to believe him.
But trust felt different after it had been broken.
When we returned to Aunt Denise's house, a police detective was waiting.
Her name was Detective Lauren Brooks.
She had been reviewing the financial documents.
Dad spoke with her in the living room while I sat nearby.
Then she asked whether I remembered Vanessa taking photographs of documents.
I nodded.
"She used her phone a lot."
"Did she ever photograph your mother's papers?"
I thought.
Then something came back.
A night when Vanessa had asked me to bring a blue folder from Dad's bedroom.
Inside was a photograph of Mom.
And several documents.
Vanessa had taken pictures of every page.
I told Detective Brooks.
Her expression became serious.
"Do you remember when?"
"Before Christmas."
Dad looked stunned.
That was almost nine months earlier.
Detective Brooks thanked me.
Then she turned toward Dad.
"We've identified another attempted change request."
He sat straighter.
"What request?"
She hesitated.
"It concerned the named recipient for future account distributions."
Dad stared at her.
"Who?"
The detective opened her folder.
Then she said, "Vanessa submitted information seeking to redirect certain payments into an account she controlled."
My stomach tightened.
Dad looked as though he'd been punched.
And I finally understood why Vanessa had wanted me gone.
May you like
She didn't just resent having me in the house.
She wanted access to something my mother had left for me.
