Chapter 2
My father stared at Denise.
"What do you mean there's something I don't know?"
Denise folded her arms.
"Nothing. Forget I said anything."
Dad didn't move.
"Denise."
She looked away.
"I was upset."
I stared at her.
Five minutes earlier, she had been screaming that I was a thief.
Now she wanted everyone to forget the conversation.
I wasn't going to let that happen.
"No."
Denise turned sharply.
"Excuse me?"
"You don't get to accuse me of stealing and then pretend nothing happened."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Maya, stay out of this."
Dad stepped forward.
"Don't speak to her like that."
Denise looked stunned.
For two years, Dad had tried to keep peace between us.
Whenever Denise complained, he encouraged me to be patient.
Whenever I said something felt unfair, he reminded me that blending families took time.
But this time, he wasn't asking me to be patient.
He was standing beside me.
And I could tell Denise hated it.
Dad turned toward Tasha.
"Where did the five hundred dollars come from?"
Tasha wiped her eyes.
"Mom gave it to me."
Denise snapped, "Tasha!"
Dad looked at her.
"Let her answer."
Tasha began twisting one of her braids around her finger.
"Mom told me to keep it in the envelope."
"For what?"
Tasha swallowed.
"I don't know."
Denise moved toward her.
"Enough."
Dad stepped between them.
"Why are you trying to stop your daughter from answering?"
Denise's face tightened.
"Because you're frightening her!"
I almost laughed.
She had pointed inches from my face and screamed accusations.
But now she was suddenly concerned about frightening children.
Dad didn't raise his voice.
"Then let's all sit down."
Nobody moved.
He looked at me.
"Maya, sweetheart, sit beside me."
I obeyed.
My hands were shaking.
Tasha sat on the opposite couch.
Denise remained standing.
Dad placed the receipt on the coffee table.
"Let's start again."
He turned toward Tasha.
"Your mother gave you five hundred dollars."
She nodded.
"She told you to keep it in an envelope."
Another nod.
"But you spent it."
Tasha burst into tears.
"I'm sorry!"
Dad softened his voice.
"Why did you tell your mother Maya took it?"
Tasha looked toward Denise.
Then whispered, "I thought she'd be mad."
Denise threw up her hands.
"Of course I was mad! That money was important!"
Dad looked at her.
"Important for what?"
She hesitated.
Then said, "Household expenses."
I frowned.
"Five hundred dollars in cash for household expenses?"
Denise glared at me.
"Yes, Maya. Adults sometimes use cash."
I looked down.
Something still felt wrong.
Dad seemed to notice it too.
"Denise, why give household money to Tasha?"
She crossed her arms.
"Because I trusted her."
The words stung.
Not because she trusted her daughter.
Because she had never trusted me.
Dad leaned back.
"All right."
For a moment, I thought he was going to let it go.
Then he said, "Now apologize to Maya."
Denise stared at him.
"What?"
"You accused her without evidence."
"Marcus—"
"You were wrong."
I held my breath.
Denise looked toward me.
Her jaw tightened.
Then she muttered, "Sorry."
I stared at her.
It sounded like the word physically hurt her.
Dad shook his head.
"Denise."
She snapped, "What more do you want?"
"A sincere apology."
Her face darkened.
I suddenly felt exhausted.
"Daddy, it's okay."
He turned toward me.
"No, sweetheart. It isn't."
Those words nearly made me cry.
Because I had spent two years pretending things were okay when they weren't.
Denise finally faced me.
"I'm sorry I accused you."
I nodded.
But I didn't thank her.
I didn't smile.
And I definitely didn't pretend everything was fixed.
She had apologized because Dad insisted.
Not because she cared that she'd hurt me.
That evening, I went upstairs.
I sat on my bed and stared at the wall.
My bedroom had once been my favorite place.
Before Dad married Denise, the house felt warm.
Safe.
Even after my mother died, Dad made sure I never felt alone.
Mom had passed away when I was eleven.
Breast cancer.
The doctors tried everything.
But eventually, we had to say goodbye.
Dad and I survived those first terrible years together.
We cooked terrible dinners.
Watched old movies.
Cried on Mom's birthday.
And slowly learned how to live again.
Then Denise entered our lives.
At first, I liked her.
She smiled often.
Brought me little gifts.
Said she understood how difficult losing a mother could be.
But after the wedding, things changed.
Her kindness became criticism.
Her concern became control.
And Dad, desperate to make the marriage work, kept explaining away the warning signs.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
"Maya?"
It was Dad.
"Come in."
He opened the door.
Then sat beside me.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he said, "I'm sorry."
I looked at him.
"For what?"
"For letting things get this bad."
My throat tightened.
"Daddy..."
He shook his head.
"No. Let me say it."
I waited.
"I've been so focused on keeping everyone happy that I stopped noticing when you weren't."
Tears filled my eyes.
"I tried to tell you."
"I know."
"You always said Denise was adjusting."
His face tightened.
"I know."
"And you said I needed to give her a chance."
He looked down.
"I was wrong."
I began crying.
Dad wrapped his arms around me.
I hadn't realized how badly I needed to hear that.
He held me while I cried.
Then whispered, "You're my daughter. This is your home. Nobody gets to make you feel unwanted here."
I nodded against his shoulder.
For the first time in months, I felt a little safer.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
But the preview caught my attention.
ASK TASHA WHERE THE OTHER ENVELOPES WENT.
I froze.
Dad noticed.
"What is it?"
I showed him.
His expression changed.
"Who sent that?"
"I don't know."
Another message appeared.
THE FIVE HUNDRED WAS ONLY ONE OF THEM.
My stomach tightened.
Dad took a slow breath.
"Don't respond."
I nodded.
Then a photograph arrived.
It showed Denise standing outside a bank.
Beside her was a man I'd never seen.
He wore a gray suit and carried a thick brown envelope.
The image appeared to have been taken several weeks earlier.
Beneath it was one sentence.
YOUR STEPMOTHER IS HIDING MORE THAN MONEY.
I looked at Dad.
His face had gone pale.
"Daddy?"
He stared at the photograph.
Then whispered, "I know that man."
My heart began pounding.
"Who is he?"
Dad swallowed.
"His name is Victor Hayes."
I waited.
He looked at me with an expression I'd never seen before.
Fear.
"He's the man who handled your mother's estate."
May you like
And suddenly, the argument about five hundred dollars didn't feel like the real problem anymore.
It felt like the beginning of something much worse.
