Chapter 2
The moment I mentioned my mother's belongings, Denise stopped arguing about breakfast.
That frightened me more than her shouting.
Only seconds earlier, she'd been demanding that my father apologize.
Now she stood beside the dining table with her hands trembling.
"Marcus," she said, forcing a laugh, "Maya is confused."
Dad didn't look away from me.
"What happened in the basement?"
I tried to answer.
But Denise spoke first.
"She found some old boxes. That's all."
Dad turned toward her.
"Then why are you scared?"
"I'm not scared."
"Then let her finish."
Denise pressed her lips together.
I could hear Jordan breathing behind us.
He hadn't moved from his chair.
I looked at Dad.
"Three weeks ago, Denise made me clean the storage room."
His expression tightened.
"Why?"
"She said I needed to earn my place here."
Dad slowly turned toward Denise.
"Earn her place?"
Denise waved her hand.
"Marcus, you don't understand—"
"I understand exactly what she said."
He looked back at me.
"Keep talking, baby."
I swallowed.
"The basement was really dusty. I was moving some boxes when I found one with Mom's name written on it."
Dad's face changed.
My mother's name was Evelyn Williams.
She had been a beautiful woman with warm brown eyes, a gentle laugh, and the kindest hands I'd ever known.
When I was little, she braided my hair every Sunday.
She sang while cooking.
She left handwritten notes inside my school lunches.
Then one rainy November evening, everything changed.
Dad told me she'd died after a sudden medical emergency.
I was eight.
I didn't understand death.
I only understood that she wasn't coming home.
For months, I slept holding one of her sweaters.
I asked Dad the same question every night.
"When is Mommy coming back?"
And every night, he cried.
Now, eight years later, I was standing in our dining room talking about a box of her belongings.
Dad took a deep breath.
"What was inside?"
"Photographs."
I hesitated.
"Some letters. Bank papers. And an envelope with my name on it."
He stared at me.
"An envelope?"
I nodded.
"It said I should open it when I turned sixteen."
Dad stepped back.
"Your mother left you a letter?"
"I think so."
His eyes filled.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I looked toward Denise.
She stared at me with a warning in her eyes.
I lowered my voice.
"She wouldn't let me."
Dad turned.
"Denise?"
My stepmother folded her arms.
"Evelyn's belongings are painful for this family. I was trying to protect everyone."
Dad looked at her.
"Protect us from what?"
"Old memories."
He shook his head.
"Maya has every right to her mother's belongings."
Denise shrugged.
"Fine. Then let her have them."
Dad held out his hand.
"Give me the key."
"What key?"
"The key to wherever you locked the box."
Denise glanced toward the hallway.
"I don't remember where I put it."
Dad stared at her.
"Then we'll find another way to open it."
He turned toward Jordan.
"Can you bring Maya some breakfast?"
Jordan immediately stood.
"Yes, sir."
Denise snapped, "Jordan, sit down!"
Dad raised his voice.
"Enough."
Jordan froze.
Dad looked at him.
"You're eighteen. You don't need permission to feed your sister."
Jordan's eyes filled with shame.
"Yes, sir."
He walked into the kitchen.
I stood beside Dad, unsure what to do.
My stomach was hurting badly now.
Dad noticed me pressing a hand against it.
"Sweetheart, sit down."
"I'm okay."
"No, you're not."
He pulled out a chair.
"Please."
I sat.
Jordan returned carrying scrambled eggs, toast, and a glass of orange juice.
He placed everything in front of me.
Then he whispered, "I'm sorry, Maya."
I stared at him.
He looked away.
I wanted to ask why he'd never stopped his mother.
But I was too hungry.
I took one bite.
Then another.
Dad sat beside me.
"Slowly, baby."
I nodded.
But when I tried swallowing, tears slid down my face.
I couldn't remember the last time someone had brought me breakfast without making me feel ashamed.
Dad gently rubbed my back.
"I'm going to make this right."
I wanted to believe him.
But promises had become dangerous in our house.
For three years, he'd promised to spend more time with me.
Promised to attend my school events.
Promised to take me shopping.
Promised we'd have dinner together.
Then Denise would call him about some emergency.
Or his company would need him.
And somehow, I always ended up alone.
I looked at him.
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"Can you please not leave again?"
His face crumpled.
He reached across the table.
"I'm not going anywhere."
For the first time that morning, I believed him.
After I finished eating, Dad led us toward the basement.
Denise followed reluctantly.
Jordan stayed beside me.
The basement smelled like dust and old furniture.
Rows of storage boxes lined the walls.
Dad switched on the lights.
"Which cabinet?"
I pointed toward a tall wooden cupboard near the furnace room.
"That one."
He walked over.
A heavy padlock secured the doors.
Dad stared at it.
"Why is this locked?"
Denise shrugged.
"Important household documents."
He looked at her.
"Then you won't mind opening it."
"I told you, I lost the key."
Dad took out his phone.
He called the maintenance supervisor who occasionally worked on our property.
"Andre, I need you at the house. Bring your tools."
Denise stepped forward.
"Marcus, this is ridiculous."
He ignored her.
I watched her face.
Something about her expression bothered me.
She wasn't looking at the cabinet.
She was looking at the cardboard boxes stacked beside it.
Then I remembered something.
The night she'd caught me holding Mom's envelope, she'd taken the box upstairs.
I'd assumed she'd returned it to the cabinet.
But what if she hadn't?
I moved closer to Dad.
"Wait."
He turned.
"What?"
"I don't think the box is inside anymore."
Denise's head snapped toward me.
Dad frowned.
"Why?"
"Because she carried it upstairs."
Denise laughed sharply.
"That's enough, Maya!"
Dad stepped between us.
"Where did you take it?"
"Nowhere."
"Denise."
She stared at him.
Then suddenly, she turned and hurried toward the stairs.
Dad followed.
"Where are you going?"
"To pack, like you ordered!"
But I saw something in her hand.
Her phone.
She was typing quickly.
Jordan noticed too.
"Mom, who are you texting?"
She stopped.
"Nobody."
He frowned.
"Then why did you just write, 'Get rid of it'?"
The silence was immediate.
Dad stared at her.
"What?"
Jordan swallowed.
"I saw the message."
Denise's face twisted.
"You little traitor!"
Jordan stepped back.
Dad moved forward.
"Who did you send that to?"
She didn't answer.
Dad held out his hand.
"Show me your phone."
"No."
"Denise."
"I said no!"
She tried walking past him.
Dad didn't touch her.
He simply stepped aside and said something that made her freeze.
"Then I'm calling the police."
For the first time, her confidence disappeared completely.
"Marcus, please."
I stared at her.
I'd heard Denise beg before.
Usually when she wanted money.
Or a vacation.
Or another expensive handbag.
But this was different.
She sounded desperate.
"Please don't involve the police."
Dad pulled out his phone.
"Then tell me what you're hiding."
Her eyes moved toward me.
Then toward Jordan.
Finally, she whispered, "It's not what you think."
Dad's voice hardened.
"Then explain."
She started crying.
"I was trying to protect this family."
I felt my stomach twist.
From whom?
From what?
Suddenly, Jordan spoke.
"Mom, tell him about the notebook."
Denise went completely still.
I turned toward him.
"You know about the notebook?"
Jordan nodded slowly.
"I saw it last week."
Dad looked between us.
"What notebook?"
Jordan swallowed.
"The black one she keeps in her bedroom."
Denise shook her head.
"Jordan, don't."
He looked at his mother.
For the first time, he didn't obey.
"I saw Maya's name in it."
My heart pounded.
Dad stepped closer.
"What was written beside her name?"
Jordan's voice trembled.
"Money."
Denise closed her eyes.
"How much?" Dad demanded.
Jordan looked at me.
Then at Marcus.
"More than eight hundred thousand dollars."
I stopped breathing.
Eight hundred thousand dollars.
Beside my name.
I had been begging for breakfast in a house where my stepmother had apparently been keeping records of a fortune connected to me.
Dad looked at Denise.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Where did that money come from?"
She began shaking.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
"Evelyn."
Dad stared at her.
"My dead wife?"
Denise nodded.
I felt the room tilt.
And before anyone could say another word, the front doorbell rang.
Three times.
Fast.
Desperate.
A moment later, a man's voice shouted from outside.
"Marcus! Don't let Denise destroy those papers!"
Dad turned toward the stairs.
I recognized that voice.
It belonged to Uncle Raymond.
My mother's older brother.
May you like
A man I hadn't seen in five years.
And the last person Denise had ever allowed inside our home.
