Chapter 3
I ran upstairs before I could stop myself.
Dad stood in the doorway of Vanessa's bedroom.
Vanessa was pressed against the dresser, her face drained of color.
On the floor beside them sat a small black cabinet with a combination lock.
Its door hung open.
Inside were several notebooks, plastic folders, and a stack of photographs.
Dad turned when he heard me.
“Maya, sweetheart, stay back.”
I stopped at the doorway.
Vanessa looked at me with pure hatred.
“You little liar.”
Dad stepped forward.
“That's enough.”
He took my hand and moved me behind him.
Then he looked inside the cabinet again.
The notebooks were filled with dates.
Some pages contained grocery receipts and handwritten lists.
Others had short notes about my behavior.
Maya cried at dinner.
Maya refused leftovers.
Maya asked to call her father.
Beside each entry was a date and a time.
My father slowly turned the pages.
“What is this?”
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“My private journal.”
“You keep records of my daughter's meals and punishments?”
“They're notes about managing a difficult child.”
I stared at the photographs scattered across the floor.
One showed me sitting alone at the dining table.
Another showed my bedroom door with a small lock attached to the outside.
I remembered that lock.
Vanessa had told me it was for my protection.
She said I sometimes wandered around the house at night and needed to learn to stay in my room.
I had believed her.
Dad picked up the photograph.
“Why is there a lock on her bedroom door?”
Vanessa's voice rose.
“She was being disobedient!”
“She was eight years old!”
The shout made me jump.
Dad immediately looked back at me.
“I'm sorry, baby.”
Then he turned to Vanessa again.
“You are going to explain every single thing in this cabinet.”
She shook her head.
“This is private. You cannot take it.”
Dad handed the notebooks to his attorney, who had arrived after Dad called him that morning.
The attorney placed everything into a document bag.
Vanessa lunged forward.
“Give that back!”
Dad caught her wrist before she could reach the bag and immediately released it.
“Stop.”
She stared at him.
For a moment, I thought she might cry.
Instead, she pointed at me.
“She has been manipulating you from the beginning. She wants me gone so she can have you all to herself.”
I felt my face grow hot.
“I never said that.”
“You don't have to say it. Look at what you've done.”
Dad's voice became quiet.
“Vanessa, you're leaving this house today.”
She stared at him in disbelief.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You're throwing me out because of a child's lies?”
“No. I'm asking you to leave because I have evidence that you have been mistreating my daughter.”
Her expression hardened.
“You'll regret this.”
Dad didn't answer.
He helped me leave the bedroom and took me downstairs.
A few minutes later, his attorney called the police to report the photographs and records.
Officers arrived shortly afterward.
They interviewed Dad and examined the cabinet.
One officer spoke to me gently and asked whether I felt safe at home.
I looked at my father.
He nodded encouragingly.
“No,” I whispered. “Not when she's here.”
The officer wrote something in her notebook.
Vanessa remained upstairs while the adults spoke.
I could hear her crying loudly, telling anyone who would listen that she was the real victim.
But when she came downstairs carrying a suitcase, her eyes were dry.
She stopped in front of me.
“You've ruined my life.”
Dad immediately moved between us.
“Don't come near her.”
Vanessa looked at him.
“You think you're saving her. You're going to discover that she isn't the innocent little girl you believe she is.”
Then she walked out.
I watched through the window as she placed her suitcase in the trunk of her car.
Before driving away, she looked directly at the house.
She didn't look defeated.
She looked as though she were waiting for something.
Dad closed the curtains.
“She's gone, baby.”
I wanted to believe that meant everything was over.
That night, he made my favorite pasta and let me choose a movie.
I sat beside him on the couch with my stuffed rabbit in my lap.
For the first time in months, I ate until I felt full.
Dad smiled when he noticed.
“You can always ask for more food.”
I nodded.
“Even when you're busy?”
“Especially when I'm busy.”
I leaned against him.
Then I remembered something.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Why did she take pictures of me?”
His smile disappeared.
“I don't know yet.”
“Was she going to send them to someone?”
He held me closer.
“I promise we'll find out.”
The next morning, Dad received a call from the attorney.
The cabinet had contained more than a record of my meals.
Several documents appeared to be connected to a bank account opened in my name.
The account had received regular deposits.
Money that should have belonged to me.
My father looked at the documents, confused.
“I never opened an account for Maya.”
The attorney turned another page.
“According to these records, someone has been withdrawing the money for more than a year.”
Dad's face went pale.
“How much?”
The attorney named the amount.
My father gripped the edge of the desk.
It was enough to pay for my education and provide a secure start to my adult life.
I didn't understand all the numbers.
But I understood what Dad said next.
“Vanessa stole from my daughter.”
Then his phone rang again.
It was the bank's fraud department.
The representative had discovered that the withdrawals had been authorized using documents containing my father's signature.
Dad stared at the screen.
“That isn't my signature.”
May you like
The attorney looked up sharply.
“Then someone has been forging your name.”
