Chapter 7
I dreamed about my mother that night.
She was sitting beside my bed.
Her hair was long and curly.
She wore a yellow dress.
She smiled as she placed pink beads into my braids.
I wanted to hug her.
But when I reached out, she disappeared.
I woke up crying.
Aunt Nia heard me.
She hurried into the bedroom.
"Lily?"
I sat up.
"I dreamed about Mommy."
She climbed onto the bed beside me.
"Was it a bad dream?"
I shook my head.
"Not really."
She held me.
I touched my hair.
"She was brushing it."
Aunt Nia smiled sadly.
"That sounds like a beautiful memory."
I nodded.
Then whispered, "I don't want to forget how she sounded."
My aunt's eyes filled.
She took a breath.
"Would you like to hear her voice?"
I stopped breathing.
"What?"
Aunt Nia nodded.
"I have old videos."
My heart began pounding.
"Really?"
She smiled.
"Really."
She reached for her phone.
Then opened a folder.
The first video showed Mommy standing in our kitchen.
She was holding a mixing bowl.
Flour covered her shirt.
She laughed.
"Marcus, stop recording me!"
Then Dad's voice came from behind the camera.
"Why? You're beautiful."
Mommy laughed again.
I covered my mouth.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
Then I began crying.
"That's her."
Aunt Nia hugged me.
"Yes, sweetheart."
We watched another video.
Mommy was sitting on the floor beside a little toddler.
Me.
I was wearing pink pajamas.
She was teaching me the names of colors.
"Purple."
Little me laughed.
"Pur-pul!"
Mommy clapped.
"That's my girl!"
I cried harder.
But this time, I wasn't frightened.
I was remembering.
Aunt Nia let me watch the videos for as long as I wanted.
Then we made a plan.
We would save copies somewhere safe.
And whenever I missed Mommy's voice, I could listen.
For the first time, I understood that Vanessa hadn't taken every memory.
Some were still waiting for me.
Meanwhile, Dad's investigation continued.
I didn't know all the details.
He didn't burden me with complicated financial information.
But I understood the important parts.
Vanessa had taken things that belonged to Mommy.
She had hidden letters.
She had been involved in moving money connected to the memorial fund.
And she had hurt me when she thought I might tell people what I'd found.
Dad told me the authorities were reviewing what happened.
He also told me I didn't need to keep answering questions about the dressing room.
The video and the adults' evidence would help establish what happened.
I was relieved.
I didn't want to explain the clippers again and again.
I wanted to go to school.
Play with my friends.
And let my hair grow.
Several weeks later, my class held a special art day.
I wore my lavender headband.
The shaved side of my head had begun growing soft little curls.
Some children noticed.
One boy asked why my hair looked different.
I froze.
Then my friend Emma stepped beside me.
"Because she's trying a new style."
The boy shrugged.
"Oh."
Then he went back to painting.
I looked at Emma.
She smiled.
"Want the purple marker?"
I nodded.
"Thanks."
For the first time, I realized not everyone was going to stare.
Not everyone was going to laugh.
Some people would simply accept me.
That felt wonderful.
Then Dad came to school for the art exhibition.
He looked at my painting.
It showed a large tree.
The leaves were pink, green, and gold.
Beneath it stood three people.
Me.
Dad.
And Aunt Nia.
Above us, I drew a bright star.
Dad smiled.
"Who's the star?"
I looked up.
"Mommy."
His eyes filled.
He knelt beside me.
"That's beautiful."
I smiled.
"She watches us."
Dad touched my cheek.
Then hugged me.
For a moment, I felt completely safe.
But that evening, Aunt Nia received a call.
It was Rachel.
She wanted to speak with Dad.
I watched him answer.
His expression changed.
Then he sat down.
"You're sure?"
He listened.
Then whispered, "Thank you."
When he ended the call, Aunt Nia looked worried.
"What happened?"
Dad took a breath.
"Investigators recovered additional documents from Victor Lane's office."
My aunt frowned.
"What kind?"
Dad looked toward me.
Then lowered his voice.
I couldn't hear everything.
But I heard one word.
Letters.
My heart jumped.
I ran toward him.
"Daddy?"
He looked up.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Did you find Mommy's letters?"
His eyes filled.
He nodded.
"Some more of them."
I began crying.
"Really?"
He hugged me.
"Really."
I held him tightly.
"Can I read them?"
He took a breath.
"Soon, sweetheart."
I looked up.
"Why not now?"
He smiled gently.
"Because the originals need to be preserved while everything is reviewed. But we'll get copies for you."
I nodded.
"Okay."
Then Aunt Nia asked something.
"Why were Lily's letters in Victor's office?"
Dad's expression hardened.
He hesitated.
Then answered.
"Because Vanessa apparently used the memory box to store documents connected to the memorial fund."
Aunt Nia stared at him.
"What?"
Dad nodded.
"The letters were mixed with the financial records."
I didn't understand why anyone would do that.
Mommy's letters were supposed to be for me.
Not for business.
Not for Vanessa.
Not for a man I didn't even like.
I looked at Dad.
"Did Vanessa read them?"
He swallowed.
"We don't know."
My heart tightened.
Then I whispered, "I hope she didn't throw any away."
Dad hugged me.
"So do I."
The next morning, Rachel called again.
Dad listened for a long time.
Then his expression changed.
"What did the examiner find?"
He became quiet.
Aunt Nia stepped closer.
Dad looked toward us.
Then whispered, "The financial authorization has a signature that doesn't match Danielle's verified writing."
My aunt covered her mouth.
Dad continued listening.
Then asked, "Who submitted it?"
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
Finally, he lowered the phone.
His face was pale.
"Vanessa."
I didn't understand every word.
But I understood one thing.
May you like
The truth was getting closer.
And Vanessa couldn't keep hiding it forever.
