Chapter 3
Tasha finally admitted the truth after Darren threatened to call the police.
She had logged into his bank account.
Not hacked it.
She already knew the password.
That part bothered me even more.
"Why do you still have access to his account?"
I asked.
Darren was still outside.
Tasha stood in our kitchen shaking.
"He gave it to me years ago."
"Why?"
"So I could help manage child-support payments."
I laughed without humor.
"The child-support payments he barely makes?"
She flinched.
"I stopped using it."
"Clearly not."
Jordan stood nearby.
I hated him hearing this.
But every time I tried to send him upstairs, he refused.
Maybe he had earned the truth.
"What did you do?" I asked again.
Tasha swallowed.
"I transferred the money."
"Why?"
"He owed it."
Darren hit the door with his palm.
"That was bill money!"
Tasha shouted back.
"You owe Jordan thousands!"
Jordan's face changed.
I looked at her.
"Thousands?"
She covered her mouth.
Too late.
"How much child support does he owe?"
"Marcus."
"How much?"
She looked at the floor.
"Almost thirty-one thousand dollars."
Jordan whispered:
"What?"
I felt sick.
Thirty-one thousand.
For years, Tasha had told me Darren helped when he could.
Apparently, "when he could" meant almost never.
"How long?"
"Six years."
"Did you ever go back to court?"
"No."
"Why not?"
She looked at Jordan.
"He would have hated me."
Jordan stared.
"My dad?"
She nodded.
"I didn't want him thinking I was trying to take money from his father."
Jordan's voice rose.
"It's for me!"
Tasha started crying.
"I know."
"No, you don't."
"Baby—"
"You keep saying everything is for me!"
His face twisted.
"But you keep protecting him!"
Tasha reached out.
Jordan stepped away.
That broke her.
Darren pounded again.
"Open the damn door!"
I walked toward it.
Tasha grabbed my arm.
"Don't."
"I'm not going to fight him."
"He'll provoke you."
"He can try."
I opened the door but left the security chain attached.
Darren stood inches away.
Same age as me, maybe a year older.
Expensive jacket.
Gold chain.
Fresh sneakers.
Interesting for a man who couldn't buy his son shoes.
His eyes went past me.
"Tasha."
I blocked his view.
"Talk to me."
He laughed.
"You?"
"You're at my home."
"My son lives there."
"Then behave like it."
His expression hardened.
"You think because you got money you can talk down to me?"
"No."
I kept my voice calm.
"I think because you're screaming outside a thirteen-year-old's home, I can tell you to lower your voice."
He looked over my shoulder.
"Jordan!"
Jordan appeared despite my warning.
Darren softened instantly.
"Champ."
Jordan said nothing.
Darren pointed toward me.
"This dude mad over some shoes?"
Jordan looked at his father.
"Why don't you pay child support?"
Darren froze.
Tasha whispered:
"Jordan."
He ignored her.
"Why?"
Darren looked at me.
"You got him in grown folks' business?"
"No."
Jordan answered himself.
"Mom told me."
Darren's jaw tightened.
"Tasha."
Jordan stepped closer.
"No. Talk to me."
I saw something change in Darren.
He wasn't used to his son questioning him.
"I help when I can."
"You owe thirty-one thousand dollars."
"That's not how it works."
"How does it work?"
Darren sighed.
"Your mom knows my situation."
"What situation?"
"I've had setbacks."
Jordan looked at his father's clothes.
Then down at Darren's sneakers.
"Those cost more than mine."
The silence was brutal.
Darren glanced downward.
Jordan continued.
"You said you couldn't buy me shoes."
"I can't right now."
"But you bought yours."
"They're old."
Jordan laughed.
Even I could tell they weren't.
Something inside the kid was changing.
Not hatred.
Disillusionment.
Sometimes that hurt more.
Darren pointed toward Tasha.
"Give me my money."
She walked closer.
"It's Jordan's money."
"You stole from my account."
"You owe me."
"That doesn't give you the right."
For once, he was correct.
I looked at Tasha.
"You can't just take it."
She snapped:
"Whose side are you on?"
"There are no sides."
I stared at her.
"There are laws."
She looked betrayed.
I continued.
"If he owes support, you handle it through court."
"You don't understand."
"No."
My voice hardened.
"I'm starting to understand perfectly."
Darren smiled.
"Finally."
I turned toward him.
"Don't."
His smile disappeared.
"You're not innocent here."
"What did I do?"
"You haven't supported your son."
"He got you."
There it was.
I stared.
"Say that again."
Darren shrugged.
"Why would I give her money when you pay for everything?"
Jordan closed his eyes.
Tasha looked furious.
"You hear yourself?"
Darren continued.
"You married rich."
"I'm not rich."
"Rich enough."
I almost laughed.
"So you decided your responsibilities transferred to me?"
"You chose that life."
That phrase again.
From both of them.
One used it to justify spending my money.
The other used it to justify withholding his.
They were different people.
But somehow I had become the solution for both.
Jordan whispered:
"Did you stop paying because Marcus married Mom?"
Darren's expression shifted.
"That's not what I said."
"Yes, it is."
"Jordan."
"Did you?"
Darren rubbed his jaw.
"Look, champ, adults work stuff out."
"I'm not stupid."
"No one said you are."
"Then answer me."
Darren looked toward me.
He hated that I was witnessing this.
Finally:
"I figured your mom was good."
Jordan stared.
"What does that mean?"
"You had everything."
"So?"
"So I had other bills."
Jordan nodded slowly.
"Okay."
Something about his calm worried me.
He turned.
"Mom?"
Tasha looked at him.
"Yeah?"
"Give him the money back."
She froze.
"What?"
"It wasn't yours."
"Jordan, he owes you—"
"Then make him pay the right way."
I looked at the kid.
Thirteen.
And somehow more sensible than all three adults.
Tasha began crying.
Darren looked almost relieved.
Then Jordan added:
"And Dad?"
Darren straightened.
"Yeah?"
"Don't text me until you can talk to me without talking bad about Marcus."
His father's face hardened.
"You letting this man turn you against me?"
Jordan flinched.
I stepped forward.
"No."
Jordan raised a hand.
"I can answer."
He looked at Darren.
"Marcus never says bad stuff about you."
That surprised me.
"He actually makes excuses."
I looked at Jordan.
Apparently, he had noticed.
"You do."
His voice cracked.
"He always says maybe you're working, maybe your phone died, maybe something happened."
Darren looked uncomfortable.
Jordan continued.
"Mom lies for you."
Tasha started crying harder.
"Marcus makes excuses for you."
His chin trembled.
"But you don't show up."
Nobody spoke.
Then Jordan walked upstairs.
Darren stared after him.
For the first time, shame crossed his face.
It didn't last.
He looked at Tasha.
"My money."
She closed her eyes.
"I'll transfer it."
"Tonight."
"Fine."
He turned to leave.
I stopped him.
"Darren."
He looked back.
"What?"
"Jordan has a game Saturday."
His expression tightened.
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yeah."
"Three o'clock."
"I said I know."
"Show up."
He scoffed.
"Don't tell me what to do with my son."
There it was again.
I nodded.
"You're right."
That answer surprised him.
"You're his father."
I looked directly at him.
"So be one."
He left.
I closed the door.
Tasha stood behind me.
"You enjoyed that."
I turned.
"What?"
"Making him look bad."
"He did that himself."
"You always act so superior."
My patience finally snapped.
"I have spent four years protecting that man's reputation inside this house."
She stared.
"What?"
"You think Jordan doesn't ask questions?"
I pointed toward the stairs.
"Every missed birthday. Every canceled weekend. Every late call."
My voice shook.
"I told him maybe Darren had work. Maybe traffic. Maybe money problems."
Tasha looked stunned.
"I did that because I thought helping Jordan love his father was good for him."
"It is."
"No."
I shook my head.
"Helping him believe lies isn't good for him."
Her eyes filled.
"I didn't know what else to do."
"You could have told the truth without destroying Darren."
"How?"
"'Your father loves you, but he's responsible for his choices.'"
Tasha looked away.
"I didn't want Jordan feeling rejected."
"So you made me responsible for covering every rejection."
Her shoulders dropped.
There it was.
The truth.
I continued.
"When Darren doesn't pay, I pay."
She said nothing.
"When he misses a gift, you buy one using our money and put his name on it."
Her face collapsed.
"When he cancels, you invent an emergency."
"I'm sorry."
"When he disappoints Jordan, we clean it up."
"I know."
"And then when I ask Jordan to respect our house, I'm not his father."
She started crying.
"I said it because I was angry."
"Why were you angry?"
"Because I felt like you were criticizing me."
"For asking where he was?"
"No."
Her voice broke.
"For making me feel like I was failing."
I went quiet.
That was different.
She sat at the island.
"I know I overcompensate."
"Why?"
She stared at her hands.
"Because when Darren and I split, Jordan cried every night."
I sat across from her.
"He was five."
"I know."
"He kept asking when his dad was coming back."
Tears slid down her cheeks.
"And I felt responsible."
"For the breakup?"
"For everything."
She wiped her face.
"Darren cheated. We fought. He left."
My jaw tightened.
"I know some of that."
"You don't know all of it."
Something in her tone changed.
"What don't I know?"
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
"The night he punched the wall wasn't the worst night."
I stared.
"What happened?"
She rubbed her wrist as if remembering pain.
"He pushed me."
My stomach dropped.
"How hard?"
"Hard enough."
"Did Jordan see?"
"No."
I wasn't sure I believed that.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you already hated Darren."
"I didn't hate him."
"You would have."
Maybe.
"He apologized."
She continued.
"He cried. Said he was stressed. Said losing us destroyed him."
"And you believed him."
"I believed he loved Jordan."
"Those aren't the same thing."
"I know that now."
She looked upstairs.
"I've spent years trying to make sure Jordan never knows his father could hurt me."
My anger softened into something sadder.
"I understand why."
She looked at me.
"But?"
"But protecting Jordan from adult details is different from rewriting Darren into a hero."
Tasha cried silently.
Then her phone buzzed.
She looked.
Her face changed.
"What?"
I asked.
She handed it to me.
A banking alert.
The eighteen hundred dollars was already gone from Darren's account.
The transfer had been reversed.
But beneath it was another notification.
A new withdrawal.
$6,900.
From our joint savings.
I stared.
"What the hell?"
Tasha stood.
"I didn't do that."
"Neither did I."
We looked at each other.
Then another alert arrived.
Password changed.
My stomach turned.
Someone had accessed our account.
Tasha whispered:
"Darren knows the login."
I stared at her.
"What?"
She covered her mouth.
"I used the same password years ago."
"And you never changed it?"
"I thought I did."
My phone rang.
Bank fraud department.
I answered.
After verifying my identity, the representative confirmed someone had logged in from a device previously associated with our account.
Then she said:
"The transfer was sent to an account belonging to Darren Cole."
Tasha went completely still.
I looked toward the front door.
Darren had left less than ten minutes earlier.
May you like
He hadn't come for eighteen hundred dollars.
He had come because he already knew where the rest of our money was.
