Chapter 5

Forty-eight thousand dollars.

I stared at the number until it stopped looking real.

Marcus leaned closer.

"Mom received this?"

Camille nodded.

"The statement identifies an account associated with her name."

I swallowed.

"What was the money for?"

"That's one of the questions we're trying to answer."

My fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

I remembered that month.

Arthur had been weak.

He'd spent most of his days at home.

Evelyn controlled his appointments.

His medications.

His visitors.

Whenever I called, she said he was sleeping.

Whenever I asked to visit, she said I would exhaust him.

Now I wondered what else she'd been doing while keeping us apart.

Marcus looked devastated.

"Did Dad know about the transfer?"

Camille nodded.

"He discovered it shortly afterward."

"Why didn't he stop it?"

"He began taking steps to secure the accounts. But he also wanted to understand exactly what had happened."

I stared at my father's signature on another document.

I remembered how he held my hand during his final days.

How he looked as though he wanted to say something.

How his eyes filled whenever I mentioned childhood memories.

I thought he was afraid of dying.

Maybe he was.

But perhaps he was also afraid of leaving behind the damage he'd helped create.

Camille placed a sealed letter in front of me.

"Nia, Arthur asked me to give you this after we discussed the estate records."

My throat tightened.

"Another letter?"

She nodded.

"This one is personal."

I stared at the envelope.

My name was written in Arthur's familiar handwriting.

For a moment, I couldn't touch it.

Then I carefully broke the seal.

Inside were three pages.

I began reading.

"My beautiful Nia,

There is no excuse for the years I allowed you to feel unwanted in your own home.

I loved you every day.

But loving you wasn't enough when I failed to protect you."

Tears blurred the words.

I swallowed.

Then continued.

"After your mother died, I was terrified of losing another person I loved. I convinced myself that keeping peace with Evelyn would protect our family.

Instead, my silence hurt you."

I pressed my hand against my mouth.

Marcus looked away.

The letter continued.

"I should have defended your relationship with Grace.

I should have protected your inheritance more carefully.

And I should never have allowed anyone to question whether you belonged to me."

My chest tightened.

Arthur had finally written the words I'd needed to hear as a child.

But he was gone.

I couldn't ask him why he hadn't spoken them sooner.

I couldn't tell him how many nights I'd cried.

How many holidays I'd dreaded.

How many times I'd wondered whether there was something wrong with me.

I wiped my eyes.

Then read the final paragraph.

"I cannot ask you to forgive me simply because I am dying.

I can only tell you the truth, acknowledge my failures, and hope the choices I made at the end of my life help restore what I should have protected from the beginning.

You were never a burden.

You were my daughter.

You were always enough.

Love,

Dad."

I broke down.

Marcus moved beside me.

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

I cried harder.

For years, I'd waited for Arthur to defend me.

Now he had.

But too late to hear my answer.

I wanted to scream at him.

I wanted to hug him.

I wanted to tell him I loved him.

And I wanted him to know how badly he'd hurt me.

All those feelings existed together.

Camille gave me time.

Then she quietly explained the next steps.

The estate would need proper administration.

The disputed transfers would be reviewed.

The trust records would require careful examination.

Any claims of wrongdoing would have to be supported by evidence.

Nothing would be resolved simply because Arthur had written a letter.

I understood.

I didn't want revenge built on guesses.

I wanted the truth.

After the meeting, Marcus drove me home.

We barely spoke.

When we reached the driveway, Evelyn's car was still there.

Marcus turned off the engine.

"Nia, you don't have to go inside."

I stared at the house.

The Christmas decorations were still hanging.

The garlands.

The wreath.

The little lights Arthur loved.

I shook my head.

"I need some of my things."

Marcus nodded.

"I'll come with you."

We entered through the front door.

Evelyn was waiting in the living room.

She stood beside the Christmas tree with her arms folded.

"Well?"

Marcus looked at her.

"We met Camille."

Her expression tightened.

"And?"

I stepped forward.

"We saw the bank records."

Evelyn went still.

I watched her carefully.

"The forty-eight-thousand-dollar transfer."

Her face changed.

Just for a second.

But I saw it.

Fear.

Then she lifted her chin.

"Arthur gave me that money."

Marcus frowned.

"Then there should be records explaining why."

She snapped.

"I don't have to explain my marriage to my children!"

I stared at her.

"That money may have come from my mother's trust."

She laughed bitterly.

"Your mother is dead."

Marcus stepped forward.

"Mom."

But Evelyn continued.

"You've spent your whole life using Lorraine's memory to get sympathy."

I felt tears rise.

Then something inside me settled.

I was tired of crying in front of her.

Tired of defending my right to remember my mother.

Tired of begging for basic respect.

I looked directly at Evelyn.

"I'm not discussing this without the attorney."

She stared.

"What?"

"If you have an explanation, give it to Camille."

I turned toward the staircase.

Evelyn followed.

"You're not walking away from me!"

Marcus stepped between us.

"Yes, she is."

Evelyn stopped.

Her eyes widened.

"Marcus?"

He looked at her.

"I love you, Mom. But I'm not going to help you hurt Nia anymore."

For a moment, she looked genuinely wounded.

Then her face hardened.

"You'll regret choosing her."

Marcus shook his head.

"I'm choosing the truth."

I walked upstairs.

My hands were shaking.

But for the first time, I didn't feel like a frightened child hiding in her bedroom.

I felt like an adult finally setting a boundary.

I packed a suitcase.

My father's portrait.

A few photographs.

My mother's old scarf.

And the Christmas ornament Arthur had given me when I was ten.

As I reached the hallway, I heard Evelyn speaking on the phone downstairs.

Her voice was low.

Urgent.

I stopped.

Then I heard a name.

Grace.

My heart began pounding.

Evelyn whispered, "You need to stay away from Nia."

I gripped the banister.

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