Chapter 7
When Dad told me another person had attended the meeting, I immediately thought of Lauren.
I hated myself for it.
She had been kind to me.
But after everything Diane had hidden, I didn't know whom to trust.
Dad saw the fear on my face.
"Ava, don't jump to conclusions."
I swallowed.
"Was it Lauren?"
He shook his head.
"No."
I exhaled.
Then he looked down.
"It was her uncle."
I frowned.
"Uncle Raymond?"
Dad nodded.
Raymond Harris.
Diane's younger brother.
He'd been at the wedding reception wearing a gray suit and bright red tie.
He'd hugged Dad before the ceremony.
He'd told me my emerald dress looked beautiful.
I barely knew him.
He lived two hours away and worked in business consulting.
But Lauren always described him as dependable.
Now I wondered what else she didn't know.
"What was he doing there?"
Dad took a breath.
"That's what investigators are trying to determine."
Mr. Collins had explained that the recording captured a discussion involving foundation accounts.
Mama asked questions about several payments.
Diane became defensive.
Raymond tried to end the meeting.
Then Mama stated that she intended to report the discrepancies.
The recording didn't prove anyone caused her accident.
But it showed that both Diane and Raymond knew what she'd discovered.
I stared at Dad.
"Did Raymond threaten her too?"
Dad hesitated.
"His words were concerning. But we'll let the investigators evaluate them."
I nodded.
I was learning something important.
Wanting the truth didn't mean making up answers.
Sometimes it meant waiting.
Asking questions.
And refusing to let fear decide what happened.
Over the next month, the investigation continued.
The foundation's independent audit identified missing funds and questionable transactions.
The insurer reviewed its payment.
The board suspended Diane from her leadership role while the findings were examined.
Lauren cooperated fully.
Raymond was questioned.
Dad kept me informed without overwhelming me with every detail.
He also arranged for me to speak with a counselor.
Her name was Dr. Simone Ellis.
She had a warm smile and an office filled with books.
At first, I didn't want to talk.
I didn't know how to explain what was happening.
My mother had died.
My father's wedding had collapsed.
A woman who might have become my grandmother had slapped my memories away in front of strangers.
And now adults were investigating money connected to Mama's final days.
It felt impossible.
Dr. Ellis didn't rush me.
She asked what I missed most about Mama.
I thought for a long time.
"Her hands."
She looked at me gently.
"Her hands?"
I nodded.
"She used to braid my hair."
My throat tightened.
"Sometimes she'd tell stories while she worked."
Dr. Ellis smiled.
"What kind of stories?"
"About when she was little."
I wiped my eyes.
"She said she was always getting into trouble for asking too many questions."
Dr. Ellis laughed softly.
"Sounds like she was curious."
I nodded.
"Very."
Then I started crying.
"I don't remember all her stories anymore."
Dr. Ellis handed me a tissue.
"That's painful."
I nodded.
She waited.
Then said something that stayed with me.
"Not remembering every detail doesn't mean you're losing your mother."
I looked up.
"What do you mean?"
"Love isn't a test of memory."
I stared at her.
She continued.
"You can remember her through photographs, stories from other people, and the ways she influenced you."
I swallowed.
"Like asking questions?"
She smiled.
"Exactly."
That afternoon, I went home and started a notebook.
I called it MAMA STORIES.
On the first page, I wrote everything I remembered about her hands.
How she separated my hair into sections.
How she hummed while braiding.
How she'd ask whether the braids were too tight.
Then I called Grandma Evelyn.
She was Dad's mother.
She'd known Mama for years.
When I asked whether she remembered any stories, she laughed.
"Oh, child, where do I begin?"
We talked for almost an hour.
Grandma told me how Mama once organized a neighborhood fundraiser because a family couldn't afford school supplies.
She told me about the time Mama baked a birthday cake that collapsed in the oven.
And how she laughed so hard that Dad had to finish decorating it.
I wrote everything down.
For the first time since the wedding, I felt as though I was building something instead of watching everything fall apart.
Meanwhile, Lauren and Dad began talking more.
Not about getting married immediately.
About trust.
Boundaries.
Honesty.
And whether they could build a future without pretending the past hadn't happened.
I watched carefully.
Lauren never pressured me.
She didn't ask me to forget what Diane did.
She never tried to replace Mama.
One afternoon, she came over with a small gift.
It was a beautiful wooden box.
Inside was a silver frame.
I opened it.
My mother's photograph fit perfectly.
I looked at Lauren.
"Why?"
She smiled gently.
"Because I know how much she means to you."
My eyes filled.
I hugged her.
She held me carefully.
Not too tightly.
Not too long.
Just enough.
A few weeks later, Mr. Collins called Dad.
The investigation had reached a major development.
Financial records showed that Raymond had helped direct several questionable transactions.
Some funds were transferred through accounts associated with businesses he controlled.
Diane had approved documents supporting those payments.
The insurer also questioned statements used to obtain the post-accident payment.
The matter was being referred for possible criminal proceedings.
Dad looked serious.
But he didn't celebrate.
Neither did Lauren.
She was devastated.
Her mother and uncle were facing serious consequences.
And although I didn't feel sorry for what Diane had done, I understood that Lauren was hurting.
That evening, Dad sat beside me.
"Ava, can I ask you something?"
I nodded.
"Do you feel safe around Lauren?"
I thought carefully.
"Yes."
"Do you trust her?"
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
"I think so."
He smiled.
"That's good."
I looked at him.
"Do you still love her?"
He nodded.
"Yes."
I took a breath.
"Then maybe you shouldn't let Diane ruin that too."
Dad stared at me.
Then pulled me into a hug.
"You're a wise girl."
I smiled.
"Mama says I ask too many questions."
Dad laughed softly.
"Your mother loved your questions."
I rested my head against his shoulder.
For the first time, I began believing our family might still have a future.
But a week later, another update changed everything.
Investigators located an email Diane had sent Raymond shortly after Mama died.
May you like
It contained one sentence that made Dad go completely still.
"Now that Naomi can't expose us, we need to make sure Marcus never sees the original accounts."
