Chapter 2
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Dad was still holding the sneaker box.
Vanessa stood beside the shopping cart with both hands gripping the handle.
Caleb looked confused.
Ava was staring at me.
I could hear the cashier scanning someone else's clothes at the next register.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
It sounded strangely loud.
Dad lowered the box.
“Nia.”
I looked at him.
“What things did your mother leave you?”
Vanessa stepped forward.
“She means nothing.”
Dad turned.
“Don't answer for her.”
“She doesn't understand what she's talking about.”
“I asked Nia.”
Vanessa's face tightened.
I swallowed.
“Mom left a box.”
Dad's expression changed.
“What box?”
“A wooden one.”
“When?”
“Before she died.”
Dad stared at me.
My mother had died six years earlier.
I was six.
Everyone always told me she hadn't left much.
A few clothes.
Some photographs.
A necklace.
And a small wooden box that Vanessa had supposedly packed away because I was too young.
But I remembered that box.
Because Mom had given it to me herself.
She had knelt in front of me one night and said:
“When you're older, Daddy will explain everything.”
I hadn't understood.
Then she'd kissed my forehead.
The next morning, she was gone.
I had never seen the box again.
Dad looked at Vanessa.
“You told me there was no box.”
Vanessa's lips parted.
“I don't remember.”
“You told me everything from Rachel's room was gone.”
“I said I didn't know where it was.”
Dad's jaw tightened.
“Where is it?”
Vanessa didn't answer.
I did.
“In the attic.”
Dad turned toward me.
“How do you know?”
“Because I found it.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
Vanessa suddenly grabbed my wrist.
“Enough.”
Dad's voice exploded across the store.
“Take your hand off my daughter.”
Vanessa released me.
Dad stepped between us.
“What was in the box?”
I rubbed my wrist.
“Pictures.”
“What else?”
“Letters.”
“What letters?”
“Mom wrote them to you.”
Dad went completely still.
Vanessa looked terrified.
That was when I knew.
She knew exactly what was inside.
Dad turned to her.
“You said Rachel never wrote me anything.”
Vanessa's voice shook.
“She was sick. She didn't know what she was saying.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“I was trying to protect this family.”
Dad stared at her.
“From what?”
She couldn't answer.
The manager approached.
“Sir, is everything all right?”
Dad didn't look away from Vanessa.
“No.”
Then he pointed toward the parking lot.
“We're going home.”
The drive was silent.
I sat in the back seat.
Vanessa sat beside Dad.
Nobody spoke.
When we reached the house, Dad went directly to the attic.
Vanessa followed.
I stayed downstairs.
I could hear boxes being moved.
Then Dad shouted.
“Nia!”
I ran upstairs.
He was standing beside the old storage cabinet.
In his hands was the wooden box.
The lid was open.
Inside were photographs.
A small silver necklace.
Three envelopes.
And a red folder.
Dad picked up the first envelope.
His hands were shaking.
The handwriting was Mom's.
Marcus.
If you're reading this, I failed to tell you something while I still had time.
Dad looked at Vanessa.
She backed away.
He continued reading.
I don't want Nia raised believing she was unwanted.
She wasn't.
But someone in this house will try to convince her otherwise.
Dad's face went pale.
He looked at me.
Then at Vanessa.
The next line was worse.
If Vanessa ever tells you I wanted her to raise Nia, don't believe her.
Dad stopped breathing.
“What?”
Vanessa whispered:
“Marcus…”
Dad turned the page.
And Mom's final sentence made the room completely silent.
I left evidence of what happened to my money.
If it is missing, look at the account opened in Nia's name.
Dad slowly looked at Vanessa.
“You told me Rachel left Nia nothing.”
Vanessa's eyes filled with tears.
“I didn't.”
“You told me her life insurance barely covered the funeral.”
“I was trying to manage everything.”
“Where is Nia's money?”
Vanessa didn't answer.
Dad picked up his phone.
“I'm calling the bank.”
Vanessa suddenly lunged for the red folder.
Dad caught her wrist.
“What are you afraid I'll find?”
She stared at him.
Then whispered:
“You don't understand what your wife was doing before she died.”
Dad's face hardened.
“My wife?”
“Yes.”
“She was hiding something from you.”
“What?”
Vanessa looked directly at me.
“She wasn't the woman you think she was.”
I felt my stomach drop.
Dad opened the red folder.
Inside was a bank statement.
The account balance was printed at the bottom.
$184,700.
My name was on it.
And the date of the last withdrawal was six months after Mom died.
Dad looked at Vanessa.
“You told me there was no money.”
Vanessa whispered:
“I had a reason.”
May you like
Dad's voice became dangerously quiet.
“What reason?”
