Chapter 5: The Night They Tried to Throw Me Out
Vanessa recovered quickly.
She always did.
Within seconds, the fear disappeared from her face, replaced by the polished smile she used whenever she wanted to make cruelty look like concern.
"Give me those papers, Nia.""
I held them against my chest.
"No.""
"They contain private financial information.""
"They contain information about money my mother left for me.""
"Money that was used to support this family.""
"Then why are you afraid of me reading the records?""
Her nostrils flared.
She glanced toward the staircase, then back at me.
"Your father made difficult decisions after Elena died. He was grieving. He was trying to keep a roof over your head.""
"Then why did you sign the transfer?""
Vanessa's eyes narrowed.
"You have no idea what you're talking about.""
"I have the transfer authorization. I know one hundred and eighty thousand dollars was moved into an account you controlled.""
She stepped closer.
"Do you understand what happens when you start making accusations like that?""
"I'm asking questions.""
"You're threatening the people who have taken care of you.""
I almost laughed.
"Taken care of me? You destroyed my graduation dress, stole the replacement, and threatened to throw me out of my own home.""
"I did not steal anything.""
"Then give the dress back.""
Vanessa's lips pressed together.
"No.""
The answer was so immediate that something inside me settled.
There would be no honest conversation with her. No appeal to fairness. No explanation that would make her suddenly recognize what she'd done.
She had made her choice.
Now I had to make mine.
"I'm going to speak to an attorney.""
Vanessa's smile returned, but it was thinner this time.
"With what money?""
I said nothing.
"You have no savings worth mentioning. You don't even have a proper graduation dress anymore. What makes you think anyone will take you seriously?""
I looked at her.
"My mother's foundation already has.""
For the first time, she didn't have an answer.
I walked upstairs and locked my bedroom door.
Within twenty minutes, Dad arrived home.
I heard his footsteps crossing the hallway, followed by Vanessa's sharp voice.
"She's been talking to Patricia.""
A pause.
Then Dad said, "What?""
"She has the trust documents. She knows about the transfer.""
Another pause, longer this time.
"How much does she know?""
"Enough to be dangerous.""
I sat on my bed, listening.
Dad's voice dropped.
"I told you this wouldn't happen.""
Vanessa gave a bitter laugh.
"You told me you had everything under control.""
"I did, until you decided to antagonize her over a dress.""
"Don't put this on me. You're the one who signed the documents.""
My heart pounded.
Then Dad said something I couldn't hear.
Vanessa answered loudly enough for the words to reach me.
"Because I was your wife, Marcus! You asked me to help you manage everything!""
I covered my mouth.
So Dad had signed the documents.
But Vanessa had helped him.
The question wasn't whether they'd taken the money. It was whether they could explain where it had gone.
I opened my phone and typed a message to Patricia.
They know I have the documents. I heard them arguing about the signatures. What should I do?
Her reply arrived almost immediately.
Stay safe. Don't confront them alone. I've contacted the attorney we discussed, and she can speak with you tomorrow morning. Keep copies of every document somewhere secure.
I photographed each page and uploaded the images to a private account. Then I emailed copies to myself and placed the originals inside a folder beneath my mattress.
At 7:30 p.m., Dad knocked on my door.
"Nia, open up.""
I hesitated, then unlocked it.
He stood in the hallway with his hands in his pockets.
"Can I come in?""
I stepped aside.
He looked around my room, taking in the sewing machine, the fabric scraps, and the empty garment rack.
"I didn't realize how much time you spent in here.""
"You never asked.""
He flinched.
"I know you're angry.""
"Are you going to return my mother's money?""
He sat on the edge of my bed.
"It's not that simple.""
"Then make it simple. Tell me where it went.""
He stared at his hands.
"Some went toward the mortgage. Some went toward medical bills and other expenses.""
"All one hundred and eighty thousand dollars?""
"No.""
"Then where's the rest?""
He didn't answer.
I sat across from him.
"Did you know Mom wanted that money used for my education?""
"Of course I knew.""
"Then why didn't you tell me about it?""
His eyes filled with something that looked almost like shame.
"Because after your mother died, I was drowning. I had debts. I was trying to raise you alone. Vanessa helped me organize the accounts, and things became complicated.""
"Complicated isn't an explanation.""
He looked up.
"Do you think I wanted things to turn out this way?""
"I think you wanted your life to be easier, and you let me pay for it.""
The words struck him.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
For a moment, the room felt unbearably quiet.
Then he said, "I can fix this.""
"How?""
"I'll speak to Vanessa. We'll work something out.""
I shook my head.
"You've been saying that for two years.""
He rose slowly.
"Nia, please. Don't involve lawyers. This could destroy our family.""
I looked at him.
"Your family?""
He closed his eyes.
"I didn't mean it like that.""
"You mean the family you built with Vanessa and Brianna? The one where I have to accept being slapped, robbed, and threatened because standing up for myself would be inconvenient?""
"That's not fair.""
"Neither was losing Mom.""
He looked away.
I stood and opened the door.
"I want you to leave my room.""
He didn't move at first.
Then he walked into the hallway.
As he passed me, he whispered, "Your mother wouldn't want you to hate me.""
I felt the familiar ache in my chest.
"I don't hate you, Dad.""
He turned.
"I just don't trust you anymore.""
I closed the door.
An hour later, Vanessa called me downstairs.
I found her standing beside the front door with my suitcase on the floor.
My old blue suitcase.
The one I had used for summer camp before my mother died.
"What is this?"" I asked.
Vanessa folded her arms.
"If you're determined to involve outsiders in our private affairs, you can find somewhere else to stay.""
Dad stood behind her, pale and silent.
I looked at him.
"You're letting her kick me out?""
"She's upset, Nia. Just give us a little time.""
"She's threatening to throw me out tonight.""
"You're almost eighteen.""
"I'm seventeen.""
Vanessa picked up the suitcase and shoved it toward me.
"Then perhaps you should have thought about that before accusing us of theft.""
The suitcase hit my legs.
For a moment, I was twelve again, standing in the kitchen while adults made decisions about my life as though I weren't there.
But this time, I didn't cry.
I placed the suitcase upright.
"Fine.""
Dad's head snapped up.
"Nia—"
"I said fine.""
I went upstairs, packed my clothes, and wrapped my mother's photograph in a soft sweater. I took my sketchbook, my sewing kit, and the little tin box that contained Mom's handwritten notes.
I left the furniture, the books, and almost everything else.
When I returned downstairs, Vanessa looked satisfied.
"Where will you go?"" Brianna asked from the sofa.
She had been watching the entire scene, her phone held loosely in one hand.
"Somewhere I can breathe.""
She scoffed.
"You're being ridiculous.""
I looked at her.
"You stole my dress because you were afraid yours wasn't good enough. You don't have to keep pretending you're better than me.""
Her face turned red.
"Get out.""
Dad stepped forward.
"Both of you, stop.""
But I was already opening the front door.
Rain fell in cold sheets across the driveway.
I lifted my suitcase and stepped outside.
Then Dad called my name.
I turned.
For a second, hope flickered inside me.
He came down the steps holding an old envelope.
"I found this in the study," he said.
"It was with your mother's papers.""
He held it out.
The front was yellowed with age. My mother's handwriting crossed the center.
For Nia, when she's ready.
My fingers trembled as I took it.
"Why didn't you give this to me before?""
Dad looked toward the house.
"Because I didn't know what was inside.""
I opened the envelope beneath the porch light.
Inside was a folded letter and a small brass key.
The letter began with my name.
My dearest Nia,
If your father has finally given you this envelope, then something has happened that I feared might happen one day.
I stopped breathing.
The next sentence was underlined twice.
The money is not the only thing I left you.
I unfolded the final page.
At the bottom, my mother had written an address and a sentence that made my heart race.
Go to the old studio on Mercer Street. Ask for the blue cabinet. The truth about our family is waiting inside.
I looked up at Dad.
He had gone completely still.
"You know what this is," I whispered.
He didn't answer.
From inside the house, Vanessa shouted his name.
Dad stepped backward.
"Nia, whatever you find at that address, don't assume you understand the whole story.""
I tightened my grip on the letter.
"Then why didn't you tell me about it?""
His eyes filled with tears.
"Because your mother made me promise to protect you.""
"From what?""
He looked at me as if he were about to confess something terrible.
Then Vanessa appeared in the doorway.
"Marcus! Get inside!""
He flinched.
And in that moment, I understood something that hurt more than being thrown out into the rain.
My father wasn't simply afraid of losing his marriage.
He was afraid of what I might discover about the woman who had raised me.
I turned away and started down the driveway.
Behind me, Dad called out one last time.
"Nia, wait!""
I stopped.
He took a shaky breath.
"That studio isn't empty.""
I turned back.
"What do you mean?""
May you like
His voice broke.
"Someone has been using it for years.""
