Chapter 8
Tasha didn't call me for three days.
Instead, her attorney contacted Claire.
The message was simple.
She wanted to discuss the financial investigation and the children's living arrangements.
Malcolm looked relieved.
I wasn't.
Not yet.
I'd seen how easily Tasha could turn tears into excuses.
And how quickly she could blame everyone around her.
Claire arranged a meeting at her office.
I attended with Malcolm.
Tasha arrived carrying a leather handbag.
Her lawyer sat beside her.
For the first time since I'd known her, she looked genuinely exhausted.
No expensive makeup.
No perfect smile.
Just tired eyes and trembling hands.
Malcolm spoke first.
“Where is Isaiah's money?”
Tasha looked down.
Her attorney quietly reminded everyone that any financial discussion would need to be handled carefully because of the ongoing investigation.
Then Tasha whispered, “I made mistakes.”
My son stared at her.
“Mistakes?”
“I was trying to keep the family together.”
“By taking money from my son?”
She started crying.
“I thought I could put it back.”
The room became silent.
Claire leaned forward.
“Are you acknowledging that you transferred money from Isaiah's account?”
Tasha looked at her lawyer.
He stopped her before she answered.
They requested a private consultation.
We waited outside.
Malcolm paced.
I sat beside the window.
“Mom,” he whispered, “how did I marry someone capable of this?”
I looked at him.
“People can hide terrible choices behind ordinary faces.”
“I thought she loved Isaiah.”
“Maybe she told herself she did.”
He shook his head.
“Love doesn't look like that.”
“No,” I said. “It doesn't.”
When we returned, Tasha's attorney explained that discussions about potential repayment and financial responsibility would proceed through counsel.
Tasha would not make detailed admissions during that meeting.
I was disappointed.
But Claire wasn't surprised.
The investigation still needed to run its course.
Then Malcolm asked about the children.
“Jordan and Ava need stability.”
Tasha wiped her eyes.
“They're my babies.”
“I know.”
“You can't take them away from me.”
“I'm not trying to.”
She looked confused.
Malcolm continued.
“I want them safe. I want them to know this isn't their fault.”
For a moment, Tasha couldn't speak.
Then she whispered, “They still ask about you.”
His eyes filled.
“I miss them.”
I watched the exchange quietly.
Whatever happened to the marriage, those children had built a real relationship with Malcolm.
That mattered.
After the meeting, Claire gave us an update.
The financial investigation had expanded.
Authorities were reviewing whether Curtis had knowingly received improperly transferred funds.
They were also examining the attempted trust-document changes and the home-equity loan application.
Malcolm's employer had completed its internal investigation.
The theft allegation was unsupported.
His badge records and work logs established that he had been elsewhere.
He was cleared to return to work.
I watched his shoulders relax for the first time in weeks.
But he surprised me.
“I'm not going back to North Dakota.”
I turned.
“What?”
“I talked to my supervisor. There's a position here in Ohio.”
“Does it pay as much?”
“No.”
“Then what will you do?”
He looked at me.
“Live differently.”
I felt tears rise.
“I've missed too much of Isaiah's life.”
I reached for his hand.
“That might be the most important thing you've said all month.”
Later that week, we took Isaiah to a child therapist named Dr. Morgan.
She was gentle and patient.
She explained that Isaiah needed consistency, reassurance, and freedom to express difficult feelings.
He didn't have to forgive anyone before he was ready.
He didn't have to pretend everything was fine.
Most importantly, he needed to know that the adults responsible for him would protect him.
After the appointment, Isaiah climbed into the back seat.
“Grandma?”
“Yes?”
“Dr. Morgan said I can be mad and sad at the same time.”
“That's true.”
He thought about it.
“I'm mad at Tasha.”
“I understand.”
“But I miss Jordan and Ava.”
I smiled sadly.
“You can miss them too.”
He looked relieved.
“Can I see them again?”
Malcolm turned in his seat.
“We're working on that, buddy.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
That weekend, Renee arranged a supervised afternoon at the community center.
Jordan arrived with a basketball.
Ava brought a board game.
Isaiah ran toward them.
For a few wonderful hours, they were simply children.
They argued about rules.
They laughed.
They ate cookies.
And nobody talked about bank accounts.
Near the end of the afternoon, Jordan came to sit beside me.
“Grandma Evelyn?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
He stared at his shoes.
“Do you hate my mom?”
I took a moment before answering.
“No, Jordan.”
“But she did bad things.”
“Adults have to take responsibility for their choices.”
He nodded slowly.
“Does that mean I have to stop loving her?”
My throat tightened.
“Absolutely not.”
He looked up.
“You can love your mother and still know something she did was wrong.”
His eyes filled.
I put my arm around him.
“And nothing that happens next is your fault.”
He leaned against me.
I wished every child could hear those words before family trouble taught them to blame themselves.
That evening, Malcolm and I sat on my porch.
He told me he had filed for divorce.
“I can't rebuild that marriage,” he said.
I nodded.
“Then don't pretend you can.”
“I still want to help Jordan and Ava where it's appropriate.”
“That's your choice.”
He looked toward the house.
“Isaiah comes first now.”
I smiled.
“As he should.”
Then my phone rang.
Mr. Whitcomb.
He had completed the review of Nicole's estate records.
“Mrs. Carter, we found something you should see.”
“What is it?”
“An additional video message Nicole prepared for Isaiah.”
My heart jumped.
“Another recording?”
“Yes. It was stored with her estate instructions.”
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
“Can he have it?”
“With his father's consent, yes.”
I looked through the window.
Isaiah was sitting beside Malcolm, working on his model airplane.
May you like
For the first time in years, my grandson was beginning to feel wanted.
And now his mother was about to give him one more reminder.
