Chapter 7
The investigation uncovered more than I expected.
More than I wanted.
Rebecca had contacted Redwood Ridge three months before the wedding.
Not as a stepmother.
As a “future legal guardian.”
She had paid a deposit from an account I did not know existed.
Marianne found the account during discovery.
Rebecca had opened it under a business name connected to her mother.
Vivian Cole Consulting.
The deposit was ten thousand dollars.
The second payment was scheduled for the day after the wedding.
My wedding gift to myself, apparently.
My stomach turned when Marianne showed me the records.
“She planned every step,” I said.
“Yes.”
“How did she think she would get away with it?”
Marianne slid another page toward me.
A prenuptial agreement.
I recognized it.
I had signed it.
Rebecca had insisted it was just to protect both of us because I owned the house before marriage.
I had skimmed it.
My lawyer had reviewed a version.
But this version had extra pages.
Pages I had never seen.
One clause stated that in the event of “behavioral distress affecting the minor child,” Rebecca would be allowed to make temporary educational decisions as my spouse.
My signature was on it.
Forged.
Again.
“She was going to use the marriage to claim authority,” Marianne said.
“And the school?”
“They likely would have accepted the paperwork, especially if she had the marriage certificate and a signed consent form.”
I felt sick.
Emily could have been gone by dinner.
A woman could have arrived with a clipboard and a smile.
My daughter might have believed I allowed it.
That thought haunted me more than anything.
The criminal charges came a week later.
Forgery.
Attempted custodial interference.
Violation of protective order.
Harassment of a minor.
Rebecca turned herself in wearing sunglasses and a white coat.
The local news picked it up because the story had started in a chapel full of witnesses.
Bride accused of forging groom’s signature to send child away.
I hated seeing our pain turned into headlines.
But the attention made it impossible for Rebecca to hide behind polite lies.
Vivian gave one statement to reporters.
“My daughter only wanted what was best for a troubled child.”
I watched it once.
Never again.
Emily saw a clip by accident on Claire’s phone.
Troubled child.
She went silent for the rest of the evening.
At bedtime, she asked, “Am I troubled?”
I sat beside her.
“No.”
“But she said it.”
“She lied.”
“What if other people think it?”
“Then they are wrong.”
Emily hugged her stuffed rabbit.
“Why didn’t Rebecca like me?”
I had rehearsed answers.
None of them felt good enough.
So I told the truth carefully.
“Some people think love is something they have to win. Rebecca thought my love for you meant less love for her.”
Emily frowned.
“That’s dumb.”
I almost smiled.
“Yes. It is.”
“Love is not pizza.”
“What?”
“If I get a slice, she can still have a slice.”
I laughed then.
A real laugh.
The first one in days.
“No, love is not pizza.”
Emily smiled a little.
Then she whispered, “But you would give me the last slice, right?”
“Every time.”
She fell asleep holding my hand.
Later, my father came by Claire’s house.
Emily was already asleep.
He stood at the doorway, holding a small wooden box.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Sarah’s letters.”
My chest tightened.
After Sarah died, I had boxed away too much.
Photos.
Letters.
Her favorite scarf.
Not because I wanted to erase her.
Because remembering hurt like touching fire.
My father set the box on the table.
“Rebecca told me keeping these around was stopping you from healing.”
I stared at him.
“She told me the same thing.”
He swallowed.
“I should have known anyone asking us to erase Sarah would eventually try to erase Emily.”
That sentence broke something open.
Grief.
Guilt.
Truth.
I opened the box.
On top was a letter Sarah had written during her pregnancy.
To Daniel, if I am ever scared, remind me who I am.
My hands shook.
I read it through tears.
May you like
And for the first time in years, Sarah did not feel like a wound.
She felt like strength.
