Chapter 2
My father's hands were shaking.
I'd never seen that before.
Not when his construction company nearly went bankrupt during the pandemic.
Not when he broke his leg on a job site.
Not even when my mother died and left him to raise me alone.
But now he stood at our dining table, staring at a bank statement as though the numbers might change if he looked long enough.
"Forty-eight thousand dollars," he repeated.
Denise said nothing.
Dad looked at her.
"Where did it go?"
She pressed her lips together.
"Marcus, you're overreacting."
He held up the paper.
"Overreacting?"
Tasha stepped forward.
"Maybe it's for the house."
Dad turned toward her.
"What house?"
She stopped.
Denise shot her a warning look.
I caught it immediately.
So did my father.
"What house, Tasha?"
Tasha folded her arms.
"I don't know. I was just guessing."
Dad looked back at Denise.
"Explain Silver Oak Properties."
She sighed dramatically.
"It's an investment."
"What investment?"
"A property investment."
"Using my business account?"
Denise looked offended.
"Our business."
My father shook his head.
"No. Carter Construction is a company I built before we met."
She leaned forward.
"And I've supported you for years."
"You have. And I've appreciated that. But supporting me doesn't mean you can secretly transfer company funds."
Denise stood.
"I wasn't hiding anything."
Dad placed the statement flat on the table.
"Then why am I finding out from my seventeen-year-old daughter?"
Silence.
I looked at the floor.
I hated being the center of the argument.
Even now, a part of me wanted to apologize.
That was what Denise had taught me.
Whenever she was angry, I apologized.
Whenever Tasha insulted me, I apologized.
Whenever something went wrong, I tried to make everyone comfortable.
But this time, I couldn't.
Not with forty-eight thousand dollars missing.
And not when I suspected it wasn't the only transfer.
Dad turned toward me.
"Maya, where did you find this?"
"The printer."
"What printer?"
"The one in your office."
Denise's head snapped toward me.
"You were going through our private documents?"
"No," I whispered. "It printed while I was doing homework."
"That's a lie!"
Dad slammed his palm onto the table.
"Stop calling my daughter a liar."
Denise flinched.
Then she pointed at me.
"She's been trying to turn you against me since we got married!"
I stared at her.
"That's not true."
"Oh, please. You've never accepted me."
My chest tightened.
I remembered the first time Denise came into our lives.
I was eleven.
My father had invited her to dinner.
She arrived wearing a beautiful red dress and carrying a homemade chocolate cake.
She hugged me and called me sweetheart.
For one evening, I thought maybe life was giving me another mother.
Then she married Dad.
And everything changed.
The hugs disappeared.
The compliments became criticism.
The woman who'd promised to love me began reminding me that I wasn't her responsibility.
I looked at Denise.
"I tried."
My voice cracked.
"I tried so hard to make you love me."
For a second, her expression faltered.
Then she looked away.
Dad turned toward me.
"What do you mean?"
I wiped my cheeks.
"Nothing."
"No, Maya. Tell me."
Denise immediately interrupted.
"Marcus, don't encourage this dramatic nonsense."
Dad didn't even look at her.
"Maya."
I swallowed.
"She tells me I'm not really part of her family."
Dad looked stunned.
"She says I eat too much. That I cost too much. That you're wasting money on me."
Tasha laughed nervously.
"Oh my God, you're making everything sound horrible."
I looked at her.
"You told me last week I should be grateful Mom lets me live here."
Tasha's smile disappeared.
Dad slowly turned toward Denise.
"Did you say those things?"
Denise rolled her eyes.
"Teenagers exaggerate."
That was when I remembered the notebook.
For almost two years, I'd written down things Denise said whenever Dad wasn't around.
Dates.
Comments.
Rules.
I started keeping it because I needed to remind myself I wasn't imagining everything.
I hadn't planned to show anyone.
But now I realized that silence was protecting the wrong people.
"I have proof," I whispered.
Denise stared at me.
"What?"
I looked at Dad.
"I wrote things down."
His eyes softened.
"Go get it, sweetheart."
Denise stood abruptly.
"Absolutely not. I will not sit here while that girl presents some childish diary as evidence against me."
Dad looked at her.
"Then leave the room."
Her mouth fell open.
"Excuse me?"
"Leave the room until you're ready to speak respectfully."
For several seconds, she looked ready to explode.
Then she grabbed her handbag.
"Tasha, we're going."
Tasha glanced at the expensive clothes.
"What about my stuff?"
Dad pointed at the table.
"Leave everything until we establish which card paid for it."
Tasha's face reddened.
"You can't take my clothes!"
"They haven't even been unpacked."
Denise marched toward the front door.
Before leaving, she turned toward me.
Her eyes were filled with hatred.
"You've made a terrible mistake, Maya."
Dad stepped forward.
"Do not threaten my daughter."
She stared at him.
Then slammed the door.
The house became silent.
I stood frozen.
Dad walked toward me.
"Sweetheart."
I began crying.
"I'm sorry."
He took my shoulders.
"For what?"
"For causing all this."
His expression broke.
"Maya, look at me."
I couldn't.
He gently lifted my chin.
"You didn't cause this."
"But if I'd kept quiet—"
"Then I would still be blind to what's happening in my own home."
His eyes filled.
"And that's my failure. Not yours."
I collapsed into his arms.
He held me while I cried.
For the first time in years, I didn't feel the need to hide my tears.
After a while, Dad led me to the couch.
"There's something I need to ask."
I nodded.
"Has Denise been treating you this way for a long time?"
I hesitated.
Then whispered:
"Since you married her."
My father's face crumpled.
"Five years?"
I nodded.
He covered his mouth.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried."
He looked at me.
"You told me I was being disrespectful."
The words hit him hard.
I remembered the exact afternoon.
I was thirteen.
Denise had thrown away the lunch my father packed because she said I needed to stop eating so much.
When I told Dad, Denise said I was exaggerating.
He believed her.
He made me apologize.
Now he sat beside me with tears running down his face.
"I'm so sorry."
I leaned against him.
"I just wanted you to believe me."
He kissed the top of my head.
"I believe you now."
Then his phone rang.
He checked the screen.
His expression changed.
It was his business accountant.
He answered.
"Hello, Peter."
I watched his face.
The color slowly drained away.
"What do you mean there are more transfers?"
My stomach dropped.
Dad listened silently.
Then he whispered:
"How much?"
A pause.
"Dear God."
He lowered the phone.
And looked at me with an expression I'd never forget.
"Maya."
I swallowed.
"What?"
May you like
He closed his eyes.
"That forty-eight thousand dollars wasn't the only money Denise transferred."
