Chapter 6
The day my mother left our house, I didn't watch her go.
I stayed in my bedroom with the reinstatement letter resting beside my pillow.
For the first time in months, I had good news.
But I couldn't enjoy it completely.
Downstairs, I heard drawers opening.
Suitcases rolling.
My parents speaking in low voices.
Then the front door closed.
Silence followed.
I sat on the edge of my bed.
I had imagined this moment so many times.
I thought I would feel free when my mother stopped controlling every decision.
Instead, I felt empty.
A few minutes later, my father knocked.
"Can I come in?"
I nodded.
He sat beside me.
"Your mother is staying with Aunt Renee for now."
Aunt Renee was my father's older sister.
She lived about twenty minutes away.
She had always been kind to me.
I looked at my father.
"Are you getting divorced?"
He sighed.
"I don't know yet."
I stared at the floor.
"Do you still love her?"
He was quiet for a long moment.
"Yes."
I looked up.
"Even after everything?"
He nodded.
"Love doesn't disappear just because someone hurts you."
I swallowed.
"Then why did you ask her to leave?"
"Because love doesn't mean allowing someone to keep hurting you."
I leaned against his shoulder.
He put his arm around me.
"Your mother needs help, Maya. But she also needs to take responsibility."
I closed my eyes.
"I don't know if I can forgive her."
"You don't have to decide that today."
Those words gave me more comfort than any promise could have.
For the next several weeks, my life became a strange mixture of excitement and anxiety.
I completed the university's enrollment paperwork.
I attended online orientation sessions.
I received information about housing, classes, and scholarship requirements.
I even started making a list of things I needed for my dorm room.
But every exciting moment was interrupted by another reminder of the investigation.
Patricia continued reviewing the trust.
The lender formally acknowledged my identity theft dispute.
A police investigator contacted me for a statement.
I had to explain how my mother obtained my personal information and how the forged documents affected my financial records.
Talking about it felt humiliating.
I hated hearing my name connected to fraud.
I hated describing my mother as someone who had stolen from me.
But Patricia reminded me that telling the truth wasn't betrayal.
The betrayal had already happened.
I was simply refusing to hide it.
Then Trevor contacted my father.
He claimed the investment wasn't fraudulent.
He insisted the money had been used for legitimate business expenses.
But when investigators reviewed the company records, they found something troubling.
The consulting business had transferred large amounts into personal accounts.
Some money went toward luxury travel.
Some paid credit card bills.
And some was used to purchase a sports car.
My father showed me the documents.
I stared at the photographs of Trevor standing beside the car.
I remembered him arriving at our house two years earlier, smiling and telling everyone how successful his company had become.
I remembered my mother praising him.
I remembered thinking that maybe one day I could achieve that kind of success.
Now I realized that at least part of his lifestyle had been funded by money my grandmother saved for me.
I felt sick.
"Did Mom know?"
My father looked at me sadly.
"I don't know how much she knew."
"Do you think Trevor manipulated her?"
"Yes."
I stared at him.
"But she still chose to use my money."
He nodded.
"Yes."
That answer mattered.
For the first time, my father wasn't making excuses for anyone.
Not for my mother.
Not for Trevor.
Not even for himself.
One evening, he sat me down at the kitchen table.
"Maya, I need to apologize for something."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"I trusted your mother to manage important things without checking whether she was protecting your interests."
I shook my head.
"Dad, you didn't know."
"That's true. But I should have paid more attention."
He took a breath.
"I thought being a good husband meant trusting everything she told me."
I looked down.
"And now?"
"Now I understand that trust also requires responsibility."
He reached for my hand.
"I should have protected you sooner."
Tears filled my eyes.
"You protected me when it mattered."
He shook his head gently.
"I wish I had protected you before it reached that point."
We sat quietly.
Then he smiled.
"But I'm going to do better."
And he did.
He helped me buy college supplies.
He learned how the university's student portal worked.
He attended a parent orientation session even though he looked completely overwhelmed by the technology.
He started cooking dinner more often.
Sometimes the food was terrible.
Once, he burned spaghetti.
Another time, he somehow made rice both crunchy and wet.
But I loved every meal.
Because for the first time in years, I felt like my future mattered more than keeping everyone else comfortable.
Then, one afternoon, Patricia called with unexpected news.
The investigation had uncovered another account.
It had been opened in my grandmother's name before she died.
The account contained money Trevor had never managed to access.
My father and I went to Patricia's office immediately.
She showed us the records.
The account held approximately forty-two thousand dollars.
My grandmother had designated it as an emergency education reserve.
It was separate from the main trust.
I stared at the statement.
"Grandma left me that too?"
Patricia smiled gently.
"She wanted to make sure you would always have a way forward."
I began crying.
My grandmother had been gone for six years.
Yet somehow, she was still protecting me.
Patricia explained that the funds could help cover expenses not included in my scholarship, such as travel, books, equipment, and future educational opportunities.
I looked at my father.
He was crying too.
"Mom really thought of everything," he whispered.
For the first time since the nightmare began, I felt something like peace.
But then Patricia's expression changed.
"There's one more thing."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
She opened another document.
The recovered account contained a record of a recent attempted withdrawal.
Someone had tried to access the money only three weeks earlier.
I leaned forward.
"Who?"
Patricia pointed toward the application.
The request had been submitted under my mother's name.
But the accompanying authorization contained another person's signature.
Trevor Harris.
My uncle had discovered the hidden account.
And he had tried to take the last money my grandmother left me.
I stared at the document.
"Where is he now?"
Patricia looked at my father.
"That's what investigators are trying to determine."
My father reached for my hand.
But before he could speak, his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed immediately.
"What do you mean he went to Maya's school?"
My heart stopped.
"Dad?"
He looked at me.
"Trevor showed up at your old high school this morning."
I stood.
"Why?"
My father listened.
Then he went pale.
"He told the principal he needed to speak with you about an urgent family emergency."
I felt cold.
May you like
Trevor wasn't simply hiding from the investigation.
He was looking for me.
