Chapter 4
The next morning, Mia’s room was empty.
Her closet door stood open. Several drawers had been pulled out and left that way. The cream-colored designer bag was gone.
Vanessa came downstairs carrying two suitcases.
“Where is Mia?” Dad asked.
“She’s at her father’s.”
“Did she send those messages?”
“I don’t know.”
“Check her phone.”
“I’m not going through her private messages.”
“You read mine when you think I’m lying.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Vanessa set the suitcases by the door.
“Because I’m not trying to start a case against my daughter.”
“No one said anything about a case.”
“Those screenshots make it look like you’re building evidence.”
“I’m trying to protect Aaliyah.”
“From Mia?”
“From anyone who thinks she can hurt her without consequences.”
Vanessa’s gaze shifted to me.
“Do you understand what this is doing to your family?”
I couldn’t tell whether she was asking me or blaming me.
Dad stepped between us.
“Don’t put this on her.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“David, she’s graduating. She’s about to leave for college. This is temporary. We can wait until everything calms down.”
“It’s been years.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
Vanessa took the suitcases outside.
Before she left, she turned to me.
“Your father is going to realize one day that this was never about the dress.”
“What was it about?”
“You’ll find out.”
She got into her car and drove away.
Dad watched from the front step.
“What did she mean?”
“I don’t know.”
But the way Vanessa said it made the answer feel like a threat.
At school, people kept asking about the graduation party. Most had heard Mia’s version already. She said I had chosen to ruin the day by accusing her of destroying the dress, then Dad had torn up her purse.
A girl from my English class cornered me by the lockers.
“Did your dad actually cut Mia’s bag?”
“He did.”
“Why?”
“Because she cut my dress.”
“Why would she do that?”
“She said it was ugly.”
The girl gave me a doubtful look.
“Mia said you threw it at her first.”
“I didn’t.”
She shrugged. “I’m not getting involved.”
By lunchtime, I had received three messages telling me I was dramatic.
I ate alone in the library.
When I got home, Dad was on a call with the school counselor. He didn’t know about the messages yet.
I put my phone on the counter.
“People think I made it up.”
“Who?”
“Kids at school.”
He ended the call.
“Why?”
“Mia told them I attacked her.”
His face hardened.
“What exactly did she say?”
“That I threw the dress at her and Dad cut the bag to make her apologize.”
“I’ll speak to the school.”
“Please don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because then everyone will think I’m trying to get her expelled.”
“Aaliyah, you don’t control what she tells people.”
“I know. I just want it to stop.”
He sat on the stool beside me.
“Do you want me to call Mia’s father?”
“No. He’ll think I’m trying to turn Mia against him.”
“Is that what you believe?”
I looked down at my hands.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
Dad didn’t rush to answer.
Then he said, “You can care about her and still hold her responsible.”
“I don’t care about her right now.”
“That’s okay too.”
It wasn’t.
I wanted to stop caring. I wanted to stop hoping Mia might apologize. I wanted to stop thinking of all the years she had been at our table, wearing my mother’s old sweater because she liked the color.
That night, Dad showed me a message from Vanessa.
She said she wanted to come over and talk.
He asked if I wanted to be there.
I almost said no.
Then I thought of Mom’s letter.
A family is more than the people who share a roof.
“Okay,” I said.
Vanessa came over the next day. She had left the green dress at home and wore jeans and a cream sweater. Without her jewelry and polished hair, she looked less like the person who controlled every room.
She sat at the kitchen table.
“Mia is staying with her father,” she said. “She’s very upset.”
“I’m sure she is,” Dad replied.
“She says you frightened her.”
“I didn’t touch her.”
“You destroyed her bag.”
“I did.”
“That wasn’t okay.”
“I agree.”
Vanessa blinked, perhaps expecting an argument.
Dad continued. “I should not have cut it. I was angry. I’m sorry I did that. I’ll replace the bag.”
I looked at him.
He glanced toward me.
“But that does not excuse Mia cutting Aaliyah’s dress.”
Vanessa folded her hands.
“I agree.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why have you defended her every time?”
“I thought I was keeping things from getting worse.”
“By telling Aaliyah to be quiet.”
“I thought she could handle Mia.”
“She was a child.”
“So was Mia.”
“She’s almost eighteen.”
Vanessa flinched.
“I know.”
I watched her fingers turn the ring on her right hand. Her wedding ring sat beside it, loose on her finger.
“Why did you let her treat me that way?” I asked.
Vanessa looked at me.
“I didn’t think it was as bad as you say.”
“I told you when she hid my mother’s bracelet.”
“You said you misplaced it.”
“I found it in Mia’s desk.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I told you.”
She stared at the table.
“Maybe I didn’t want to see it.”
Dad leaned back slightly. “Why not?”
“Because every time I corrected her, she said I was choosing Aaliyah over her.”
“So you let Aaliyah pay the cost.”
Vanessa’s eyes filled.
“I’m not proud of it.”
“Are you sorry?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“For the dress?”
“For the dress. For making you feel like you had no one in this house.”
The apology sounded real.
It still didn’t undo anything.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” I said.
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
She nodded slowly.
“I think I’m beginning to.”
Dad asked whether Mia had sent the messages.
Vanessa said she had checked Mia’s phone. The messages had been sent through a temporary-number app. There was no way to know who had used it, but Mia admitted she had sent them.
“I thought if Aaliyah stopped talking to you, you’d come back to me,” she had told Vanessa.
The answer made my stomach tighten.
“Why would she think Dad could be taken from her?”
Vanessa lowered her eyes.
“Because I let her believe love was a competition.”
No one spoke.
Then Dad asked whether she was coming home.
“Not yet,” Vanessa said. “Mia needs to apologize without me speaking for her. I need to figure out who I am when I’m not trying to keep her happy.”
She stood.
At the door, she turned to me.
“I won’t ask you to fix this for me.”
“Good.”
She nodded and left.
That evening, Dad took me to the school office. He did not demand a punishment for Mia. He gave the counselor the facts and asked the school to stop students from repeating claims about me as if they were proven.
The counselor offered to arrange a meeting.
I agreed.
On Monday morning, Mia returned to school.
She was waiting outside the main office when I arrived.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
I kept walking.
“Please.”
I stopped.
Her eyes looked puffy. She held a folded paper in one hand.
“I sent the messages,” she said.
“I know.”
“I wanted you to feel scared.”
“I did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why did you cut my dress?”
She swallowed.
“Because everyone was excited for you.”
“That’s why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You knew I saved for it. You knew Mom mattered to me.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“I was angry.”
“You’re always angry at me.”
She looked down.
“I don’t know how to stop.”
I studied her face.
I wanted to believe there was an explanation that would make the past smaller. There wasn’t.
“Did you tell people I attacked you?”
“I told them you threw the dress at me.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want them to think I was the bad one.”
I shook my head.
“You don’t get to make me pay for that.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She pressed the folded paper into my hand.
“I wrote everything down. The school asked me to make a statement.”
The bell rang.
I held the paper but didn’t unfold it.
“Don’t expect me to forgive you today.”
May you like
“I won’t.”
We went to class in different directions.
