Chapter 4
The message was a photograph of a bank transfer.
My father’s name appeared at the top.
The amount was $18,000.
The recipient line showed Lauren’s initials and an account number I didn’t recognize.
A date from two weeks before Christmas.
I showed James.
“That’s more than Dad admitted.”
“Maybe it’s the nine thousand he mentioned plus something else.”
“Why would someone send this to me?”
“To scare you.”
“Or to tell me the truth.”
We took a screenshot and called my father.
He answered immediately.
“Did you send Lauren eighteen thousand dollars?”
A long pause.
“Where did you see that?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I need to talk to your mother.”
“Dad.”
“It was a loan.”
“For what?”
“She said she had a tax problem.”
“Is that why she needed money from Colin and James too?”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“Did you know she was involved with him?”
“No.”
“Did you ask where the money went?”
“She said she was handling it.”
“Did she pay you back?”
“No.”
“Then it wasn’t a loan, was it?”
He ended the call.
I stared at the phone.
The silence between us was becoming familiar.
That evening, Mom called.
She was crying before I could say hello.
“Lauren says she didn’t hit Emma hard.”
“Why does she keep saying that?”
“Because she’s scared.”
“Of what?”
“She says James wants to destroy her life.”
“James wants her to stay away from our child.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Mom, she sent him messages threatening his career.”
“She says she didn’t mean them.”
“She took money from Dad, James, and Colin.”
“She’s in trouble.”
“She put her hand on Emma.”
My mother breathed shakily.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I’m trying to understand.”
“Then stop explaining her behavior before you’ve even asked what happened.”
“I don’t know how to handle this.”
“Start by telling the truth.”
“I am telling you what I know.”
“No. You’re telling me what Lauren wants you to know.”
My mother went quiet.
“Claire, please. This is still your sister.”
“She’s still the person who hurt my baby.”
The call ended with both of us crying.
James listened from the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You didn’t do this.”
“I should have seen the tension between you sooner.”
“How could you? You were gone.”
“I knew she had a problem with me.”
“What?”
He looked away.
“Before I left, Lauren made a comment about how the family would be better off if I stayed deployed.”
I felt cold.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“She said it was a joke.”
“That’s not a joke.”
“I know that now.”
“Did you tell my parents?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want to make you choose sides.”
The words brought back the Christmas dinner, the silent table, my mother’s quick defense of Lauren.
It wasn’t the first time the family had chosen quiet over truth.
James searched his files again. The military investigation had closed with no disciplinary action. But the investigator needed a written statement from him about Lauren’s threats and the money.
He agreed.
I sent the bank transfer photograph to my father and asked him to confirm whether it was real.
He didn’t reply.
The next morning, I took Emma to the pediatrician. The doctor examined her cheek and found no injury beyond mild redness.
“Keep an eye on her behavior,” she said. “If she becomes unusually sleepy, refuses feeds, or seems different, call us.”
I left feeling relieved and furious all at once.
Emma was fine physically.
That didn’t mean what Lauren had done was fine.
On the way home, I stopped by my parents’ house to return a casserole dish. I hadn’t planned to stay.
Lauren’s car was in the driveway.
I heard voices inside.
My mother said, “You cannot keep lying.”
Lauren answered, “I’m not lying.”
“You took money.”
“I was going to pay them back.”
“With what?”
“I had a plan.”
“What plan?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m trying to.”
“No, you’re trying to side with Claire.”
“I’m trying to keep you from losing your family.”
I heard footsteps.
I rang the bell.
The conversation stopped.
My mother opened the door.
Lauren stood behind her, pale and tense.
I held out the dish.
“I came to return this.”
My mother took it.
Lauren looked at Emma.
“Can I hold her?”
“No.”
Her face fell.
“Claire, I’m sorry.”
“Are you sorry you hit her, or sorry you’re in trouble?”
“I didn’t hit her hard.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Lauren swallowed.
“I’m sorry I scared her.”
“Why did you do it?”
“I was frustrated.”
“She is six months old.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
Mom stepped between us. “This isn’t helping.”
I turned to her.
“Then make it help.”
She didn’t move.
Lauren’s eyes filled.
“I just wanted everyone to stop treating me like I was the problem.”
“You made yourself the problem when you hurt her.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You keep saying that. What did you mean?”
“I wanted her to stop crying.”
“She’s a baby. She can’t understand a warning or a punishment.”
“I know that now.”
“Did you know it then?”
Lauren’s mouth trembled.
“I don’t know.”
That answer was worse than a denial.
I backed away.
“You don’t get to hold Emma.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
I returned to the car.
Mom followed me to the porch.
“Claire, please don’t shut us out.”
“I’m not shutting you out. I’m setting a boundary.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you don’t get to see Emma unless I believe she’s safe.”
My mother flinched.
“Your father loves her.”
“Then he can show it by respecting what I’m asking.”
I drove home.
That night, another message arrived.
Ask your father why the money was paid in cash first.
The unknown sender had included no photo this time.
I called Dad again.
He didn’t answer.
James looked at the message.
“Someone wants us to keep following the money.”
“Or wants to make my family turn on itself.”
“Either way, we need facts.”
He had a point.
The next morning, we went to the bank together.
The teller confirmed the $18,000 transfer but said she couldn’t provide details without my father’s consent. The money had been transferred from an account tied to a home equity line.
My parents had borrowed against their house.
When I told Dad, he finally called back.
“Meet me alone,” he said.
“Why alone?”
“I need to tell you something I don’t want James hearing until I explain.”
“I’m not keeping secrets from my husband.”
“Claire, please.”
I heard fear in his voice.
“Meet us both,” I said.
He agreed.
The meeting was set for that afternoon at a café near his office.
As we arrived, I saw my father waiting by the window.
He had an envelope in front of him.
He looked older than he had a week ago.
“I didn’t send Lauren eighteen thousand,” he said.
I sat down.
“Then who did?”
May you like
My father pushed the envelope toward me.
“Your mother did.”
