Chapter 6
I stared at Maya's message until the words blurred.
She lied about how your eye was injured.
My stomach twisted.
For eight months, I'd lived with pain, headaches, and uncertainty about whether my sight would improve.
I'd told myself the injury was an accident.
I'd repeated Vanessa's explanation to doctors.
I'd tried to believe she hadn't meant to hurt me.
But Maya's message suggested something else.
I called her.
She answered after several rings.
"Nia?"
Her voice was shaking.
"What do you mean?" I demanded.
There was a pause.
"Maya, what do you mean she lied?"
She began crying.
"I didn't know it was going to get this bad."
My heart pounded.
"What happened?"
Maya took a trembling breath.
"Mom told me to say you fell."
I closed my eye.
"I know."
"No," she whispered. "You don't understand."
I gripped the phone.
"Then tell me."
She hesitated.
"Mom saw the doctor’s report before you did."
I felt cold.
"What report?"
"The first emergency department notes."
I swallowed.
"What did they say?"
Maya began crying harder.
"They described your injury as being caused by an object striking your face during an altercation."
My chest tightened.
I remembered the hospital.
The bright examination room.
The pain.
Vanessa standing beside my bed.
She'd told the doctor I fell while carrying a box.
I'd been dizzy.
Confused.
Scared.
And when I tried to explain that she'd grabbed my sewing supplies, Vanessa interrupted.
"She's upset. She doesn't remember clearly."
I had believed her.
Because I wanted to believe the woman my father married wouldn't deliberately hurt me.
"Maya," I whispered, "did you see what happened?"
There was silence.
Then she answered.
"Yes."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
"I was standing in the hallway."
I sat down.
Angela looked at me with concern.
I raised one hand.
Maya continued.
"You were holding your sewing box. Mom grabbed it because she wanted the room cleared for my things."
I remembered.
I'd been preparing a design portfolio.
Vanessa said Maya needed my sewing room for a beauty-content studio.
I refused.
She became furious.
Maya's voice shook.
"Mom yanked the box toward herself. You tried to hold on."
I closed my eye.
"Then what?"
"She shoved it back at you."
A tear rolled down my cheek.
"The metal corner hit your face."
I covered my mouth.
I'd spent months wondering whether I'd caused my own injury by struggling over the box.
Now I knew Vanessa had deliberately pushed it toward me.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
Maya sobbed.
"Mom said we'd lose everything if the truth came out."
I stared at the floor.
"And you believed her?"
"I was scared."
I took a slow breath.
"So was I."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Maya whispered, "I'm sorry."
I closed my eyes.
The words hurt.
Not because I didn't want to hear them.
Because I'd waited eight months.
"Maya, why are you telling me now?"
She hesitated.
"Because Mom is planning to blame you for everything."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"She's saying you stole money from the house and created fake documents to take her property."
I felt sick.
"That's ridiculous."
"I know."
Maya began crying again.
"She told me to back her up."
I looked toward Angela and Daniel.
They were watching me carefully.
I took a breath.
"Maya, I need you to tell the truth to the proper people."
She hesitated.
"Will Mom go to jail?"
"I don't know."
"Will she hate me?"
I swallowed.
"I can't control how she reacts."
Silence.
Then I said something I never expected to say to my stepsister.
"But telling the truth doesn't make you a bad daughter."
Maya began sobbing.
"I don't know what to do."
I looked down at my gown.
The scraps.
The ribbons.
The pieces I'd transformed into something beautiful.
I thought about how much fear had controlled our lives.
"Start by being honest," I whispered.
She agreed to speak with Daniel and an independent investigator.
Then she ended the call.
I sat motionless.
Angela moved beside me.
"What happened?"
I told her.
As I spoke, I felt the weight of eight months pressing against my chest.
The accident.
The lies.
The pain.
The surgery I couldn't afford.
And the terrifying possibility that I'd believed a false story about my own injury.
Daniel listened carefully.
Then he said, "Nia, we should preserve Maya's messages and obtain your medical records."
I nodded.
"Okay."
He continued.
"If the evidence supports what you've described, you can discuss reporting the incident with the appropriate authorities."
I took a breath.
"I want the truth documented."
He nodded.
"We'll help you understand the process."
The next morning, Angela accompanied me to the hospital.
We requested copies of my medical records.
Then we met with an ophthalmologist named Dr. Camille Harris.
She reviewed my previous scans.
She spoke gently.
"Nia, your injury was serious, but there may still be treatment options."
My heart pounded.
"Can I see normally again?"
She hesitated.
"I can't promise that."
I looked down.
"But additional imaging and specialist evaluation may help us determine whether surgery could improve your condition."
I felt tears gathering.
For months, Vanessa had told me there was nothing doctors could do.
Now a specialist was telling me there might be hope.
I nodded.
"I want to try."
Dr. Harris smiled.
"Then we'll take this one step at a time."
After the appointment, Angela and I sat in the parking lot.
I held the medical folder against my chest.
For the first time, I felt hopeful about my future.
Then Daniel called.
His voice sounded serious.
"Nia, we've completed an initial review of several trust transactions."
My stomach tightened.
"What did you find?"
"Payments were made from accounts connected to your trust for expenses that may not have benefited you."
I stared at the dashboard.
"How much?"
He hesitated.
"Potentially several hundred thousand dollars."
I closed my eye.
My father had left money for my future.
And while I'd been struggling to afford medical care, someone had been spending it.
Daniel continued.
"We need a full accounting before making conclusions."
I nodded.
"I understand."
Then he said something that made my heart race.
"Nia, one payment was made to a luxury fashion boutique."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"The invoice describes a custom wardrobe purchase."
My stomach tightened.
"Whose wardrobe?"
May you like
Daniel paused.
"According to the invoice, the client was Maya."
