Chapter 5
I didn't understand why Vanessa would hide letters from my mother.
They were only paper.
They weren't expensive.
They weren't jewelry.
They didn't belong to her.
But every time I asked, Dad looked more worried.
Aunt Nia told me that grown-ups sometimes made choices children couldn't understand.
I hated that answer.
Because I was the child who had lost her hair.
I was the child who had lost her mother.
And now I was the child whose letters were missing.
I wanted someone to explain.
So that evening, I asked Dad directly.
"Why did Vanessa take my letters?"
He sat beside me on Aunt Nia's sofa.
His face looked tired.
"I don't know everything yet."
I frowned.
"But you found the box."
He nodded.
"Yes."
"Then why aren't the letters there?"
Dad took a breath.
"Someone moved them."
I looked down.
"Vanessa?"
He hesitated.
"That's what we're trying to establish."
I didn't like that answer either.
But Dad had promised to tell me the truth.
So I waited.
The next morning, Rachel came to Aunt Nia's house.
She wasn't there to speak to me.
She wanted to meet with Dad.
But I heard them talking in the kitchen.
Rachel said something about an estate inventory.
Then she mentioned a charity account.
I didn't understand.
Then Dad sounded angry.
"She used Danielle's memorial fund?"
My heart began pounding.
I stepped closer to the kitchen doorway.
Aunt Nia noticed me.
She gently guided me back.
"Come on, sweetheart."
I looked up.
"What's a memorial fund?"
My aunt hesitated.
Then smiled sadly.
"It's money people give to support a cause in someone's memory."
I nodded.
"Like Mommy's art program?"
"Yes."
I looked toward the kitchen.
"Did Vanessa take the art money?"
Aunt Nia didn't answer immediately.
Then she said, "Your dad is checking the records."
I felt sick.
Mommy's program helped children who couldn't afford art classes.
Some kids at the community center didn't have crayons at home.
Others had never used watercolor paints.
Mommy used to say that art belonged to everyone.
I couldn't imagine someone taking money meant for those children.
That afternoon, Dad came into the living room.
He sat beside me.
"Lily, do you remember the speech you practiced for the gala?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
He smiled gently.
"Would you like to tell me what you wanted to say?"
I looked down.
I had practiced for weeks.
I knew every word.
But after Vanessa cut my hair, I didn't want people staring at me.
Dad waited.
Then I whispered, "Mommy said everybody can make something beautiful."
His eyes filled.
I continued.
"Even if they don't have expensive things."
I swallowed.
"And I wanted to give the kids new crayons."
Dad smiled through tears.
"That's beautiful."
I looked at him.
"Can we still do it?"
He nodded.
"Absolutely."
My chest felt lighter.
Then he took my hand.
"There's something else I want you to know."
I looked up.
"Your mother's letters are yours."
I nodded.
"And nobody gets to decide you shouldn't have them because they feel uncomfortable."
I smiled a little.
"Not even Vanessa?"
Dad shook his head.
"Not even Vanessa."
That evening, Aunt Nia helped me make a new birthday card for Mommy.
Not because it was her birthday.
Because I wanted to tell her what happened.
I drew a little girl with short hair.
She wore a lavender dress.
She stood beside a big pink heart.
Inside the heart, I wrote:
MOMMY, I STILL LOVE MY HAIR.
Then I stopped.
I looked at the picture.
My eyes filled.
"Aunt Nia?"
She looked up.
"Yes?"
"What if it never grows back?"
She came beside me.
"Hair usually grows back, sweetheart. The doctor can check how your scalp is healing."
I nodded.
Then whispered, "But what if I don't look the same?"
She smiled gently.
"You'll still be Lily."
I thought about that.
Then added another sentence.
AND I AM STILL ME.
Aunt Nia began crying.
I hugged her.
For the first time, I felt proud of something I'd written.
Meanwhile, Dad was making changes at home.
Vanessa had moved out.
He arranged for my belongings to be checked and kept safely.
He spoke with my school counselor.
He made sure Vanessa couldn't collect me from school without authorization.
And he preserved the tablet recording and the hair clippers for the investigation.
I didn't understand all the details.
But I noticed that Dad stopped asking me to keep family problems private.
He told me I could talk to trusted adults.
He told me I didn't have to protect someone who hurt me.
And he told me that telling the truth wasn't the same as being disloyal.
That helped.
A week later, Dad took me to a pediatric dermatologist.
The doctor examined my scalp gently.
She told me the shaved area appeared healthy and that my hair should gradually grow.
She also explained that uneven regrowth was normal.
I asked whether I could wear my beads.
She smiled.
"Of course, as long as the style is comfortable."
I looked toward Dad.
He grinned.
"Looks like the beads are staying."
I laughed.
Then we went for ice cream.
For the first time since the dressing room, I forgot to hide the side of my head.
I was eating strawberry ice cream when Dad's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
"Rachel?"
He listened carefully.
Then looked toward me.
"Are you certain?"
My stomach tightened.
He stood.
A few seconds later, he ended the call.
I looked up.
"Daddy?"
He sat beside me.
His face was serious.
"What's wrong?"
He took a breath.
"Rachel found records showing that money was transferred from your mother's memorial fund."
I stared at him.
"To who?"
Dad hesitated.
Then answered quietly.
"To a company connected to Vanessa."
My ice cream suddenly tasted strange.
I thought about Mommy's art program.
The children waiting for supplies.
The letters Vanessa had hidden.
Then I whispered, "Did she take their crayons too?"
May you like
Dad's eyes filled.
And he couldn't answer.
