Chapter 2
I opened Jasmine's message while Nia stood three feet away from me.
The first words made my chest tighten.
"Dad, please call me when you're alone. I'm scared to tell you this, but Nia has been using your name to threaten me."
I read the sentence twice.
Then I kept going.
"She told me that if I asked you for help again, she would make sure you believed I was stealing from you."
My eyes moved down the screen.
"Last week, she came to my apartment. She said she could make you cut me out of your life. She also said she had access to accounts you don't know about."
I stopped breathing for a moment.
Then I saw the final line.
"I recorded part of what she said. I don't want money, Dad. I just want you to know the truth."
My hands went cold.
I looked at Nia.
She was crying now.
"She recorded me?" she whispered.
I felt as though someone had struck me in the chest.
Not because my daughter had recorded her.
Because those were the first words out of my wife's mouth.
Not an apology.
Not a denial.
Just concern that someone had evidence.
"You went to Jasmine's apartment?"
Nia wiped her cheeks.
"Marcus, I can explain."
"Did you threaten my daughter?"
"I was trying to establish boundaries!"
"That's not what I asked."
She straightened.
"Your daughter has never respected me."
I stared at her.
"Respect has nothing to do with threatening someone."
"She doesn't understand marriage!"
"And you don't seem to understand what being a father means."
Nia's expression hardened again.
"She knows exactly how to manipulate you."
I looked back at the message.
Something else bothered me.
Jasmine had written that Nia had access to accounts I didn't know about.
"What accounts?"
Nia looked away.
"Don't start."
"What accounts, Nia?"
"They're household accounts."
"Then why wouldn't I know about them?"
She shook her head.
"You've always been controlling about money."
For a moment, I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
I had paid the bills without asking her to contribute equally.
I had helped her open her own consulting business.
I had supported her younger brother when he lost his job.
And now she was accusing me of controlling money because I wanted an explanation.
I walked toward the kitchen.
Nia followed.
"Where are you going?"
"Somewhere I can hear myself think."
"You're not calling Jasmine."
I stopped.
Slowly, I turned around.
"Don't ever tell me when I can speak to my daughter."
She flinched.
Not because I raised my voice.
Because I didn't.
I dialed Jasmine.
She answered after the third ring.
"Dad?"
Her voice sounded small.
Smaller than I remembered.
"Sweetheart, are you okay?"
There was a pause.
"Did you read my message?"
"Yes."
I heard her inhale sharply.
"I'm sorry."
That nearly broke me.
"For what?"
"For causing problems."
"Jasmine, you haven't caused anything."
Nia stepped forward.
"Put her on speaker."
I ignored her.
"Can you tell me exactly what happened?"
Jasmine hesitated.
"Dad, is Nia there?"
"Yes."
"Then I don't want to talk about it."
My heart sank.
"Why?"
"Because last time I spoke to you about her, she called me afterward."
Nia's eyes widened.
I watched her carefully.
"What did she say?" I asked.
Jasmine's voice trembled.
"She said I was trying to destroy your marriage."
I closed my eyes.
"Anything else?"
"She told me you had chosen your new family."
I felt the words settle heavily inside my chest.
My new family.
As though my daughter belonged to some old life that could simply be discarded.
"Jasmine, listen to me."
"I'm listening."
"You have never stopped being my family."
She started crying.
I looked toward the ceiling.
I couldn't remember the last time I had heard my daughter cry like that.
Not when she failed her driving test.
Not when her first boyfriend broke her heart.
Not even when her mother died.
Back then, she had tried to be strong for me.
And somehow, I had let her believe she needed to be strong alone.
"Dad," she whispered, "I didn't want to tell you because I thought you wouldn't believe me."
Those words hurt worse than anything Nia had said.
"Why would you think that?"
"Because you always said she meant well."
I couldn't answer.
Jasmine continued.
"Every time I told you something happened, you said we should try to get along."
She was right.
I remembered birthday dinners where Nia criticized Jasmine's clothes.
Holidays where my daughter was left out of family photographs.
Graduation celebrations where Nia made everything about herself.
I had called it tension.
I had called it adjustment.
I had told myself they needed time.
Now I wondered how many times my daughter had swallowed her pain to keep me happy.
"Baby, I'm sorry."
Nia shook her head furiously.
"You're apologizing without hearing my side?"
I held up my hand.
Jasmine heard her.
"I should go," she whispered.
"No."
I walked into my study and closed the door.
"You're not going anywhere until you know something."
"What?"
"I believe you."
For several seconds, there was only silence.
Then Jasmine began sobbing harder.
I sat at my desk.
"Tell me about the recording."
She took a shaky breath.
"I have it saved. But there's something else."
"What?"
"After Nia came to my apartment, I checked my credit report."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"Because she mentioned something about an account with my name on it."
My stomach tightened.
"An account?"
"Two, actually."
I sat completely still.
"Jasmine, what kind of accounts?"
"A personal loan and a credit card."
"Did you open them?"
"No."
The room seemed suddenly smaller.
"How much?"
Her answer came in a whisper.
"Almost eighteen thousand dollars altogether."
I stood so quickly that my chair rolled backward.
"Are you sure?"
"I've already filed a dispute."
I stared at the closed study door.
On the other side stood my wife.
The woman who had helped me organize financial paperwork.
The woman I trusted with family records.
The woman who knew Jasmine's birthday, address, and identifying information.
"Dad?"
"I'm here."
"There's one more thing."
I gripped the desk.
"What is it?"
"The bank gave me a copy of the application."
My daughter started crying again.
"The emergency contact is you."
"That doesn't prove anything."
"I know."
She paused.
"But the phone number attached to the application..."
I already knew what she was going to say.
May you like
Still, hearing it nearly brought me to my knees.
"Dad, it's Nia's number."
