Chapter 9
I did not sleep that night.
Neither did Emmett.
We stayed in the guesthouse with Mateo outside the door and federal agents at the main estate.
At 3 a.m., Emmett sat up.
“Daddy?”
“I’m here.”
“Did Grandma make Mom sick?”
The question cut through me.
I wanted to protect him from the answer.
But lies had already hurt him more than truth.
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “But I think people hurt her.”
He stared at the blanket.
“Because of me?”
I moved closer.
“No.”
“But Mom’s letter said my trust.”
“Emmett, listen to me.”
He looked up.
“You are not money. You are not a key. You are not a problem adults fight over.”
His eyes filled.
“You are my son.”
He cried then.
Quietly.
Like he was afraid tears could still be used against him.
I held him until morning.
At sunrise, Nora arrived.
She looked younger than her voice.
Tired.
Nervous.
Brave.
Emmett recognized her immediately.
“You liked the lemon cookie,” he said.
Nora smiled through tears.
“I loved it.”
She turned to me and handed over a sealed envelope.
“Amara gave me this before I was removed.”
“Why wait?”
“Because I was threatened. My license. My family. Then I saw Celina mock your son. I heard Lucille laugh.”
Her voice broke.
“And I remembered Amara begging me not to let them make him believe kindness was shameful.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a hospital visitor log.
The night before Amara’s decline, Lucille had visited with Dr. Cross.
So had Celina.
So had Victor.
At the bottom was one more name.
May you like
My father.
But my father had been dead for five years.
