Chapter 2 - AFTER EVERYTHING I DID FOR YOU
The next morning, Joanna called seventeen times.
Amelia ignored every call.
At breakfast, Maisie barely touched her cereal.
She kept looking toward the hallway whenever Amelia’s phone vibrated.
“Is Aunt Joanna mad?”
Amelia put the phone facedown.
“Aunt Joanna is responsible for her own feelings.”
Maisie looked uncertain.
“Is she going to call the police again?”
“No.”
“You promise?”
Amelia moved beside her.
“I promise no one is going to take you away because you hid a key.”
Maisie nodded.
Then she whispered something that made Amelia’s stomach tighten.
“She said they could take you away too.”
Amelia went still.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“What exactly did she say?”
Maisie stared into her cereal bowl.
“She said if I told you about the basement, the police might think you were a bad mommy because you leave me with her.”
Amelia felt heat rise behind her eyes.
Joanna had not simply frightened Maisie.
She had weaponized Amelia’s trust against her child.
Amelia took Maisie to school herself.
Then she drove directly to Joanna’s apartment.
The building was one Amelia had selected personally three years earlier.
Two bedrooms.
Doorman.
Underground parking.
Gym membership included.
Monthly rent was $3,200.
Amelia paid all of it.
Joanna opened the door wearing silk pajamas and holding a coffee.
“You finally came to your senses.”
Amelia walked past her.
“I came for answers.”
Joanna rolled her eyes.
“About yesterday?”
“About Mom’s estate.”
That stopped her.
Only for a second.
But Amelia saw it.
Joanna walked toward the kitchen.
“What about it?”
“Eighteen thousand five hundred dollars.”
Joanna’s shoulders stiffened.
“I don’t remember every transfer you ever made.”
“It said it was for Mom’s account.”
“Then it probably was.”
“You told me probate would reimburse me.”
Joanna gave a tired sigh.
“Amelia, Mom died eight years ago.
Do you really want to dig up ancient bookkeeping because you’re angry about one bad afternoon?”
“One bad afternoon?”
“Maisie is fine.”
Amelia stared at her.
“You made a seven-year-old believe she was going to prison.”
“She was misbehaving.”
“She was terrified.”
“She is too sensitive because you protect her from everything.”
Amelia stepped closer.
“No.
She was terrified because you wanted her terrified.”
Joanna set her coffee down.
“Why are we talking about Mom?”
“Because I want the probate records.”
Joanna’s expression hardened.
“You had access.”
“You handled the estate.”
“Because you couldn’t.”
Amelia flinched.
Joanna immediately saw it.
Eight years earlier, Amelia’s husband, Daniel, had died in a highway accident six weeks before their mother suffered a fatal stroke.
Amelia had been pregnant with Maisie.
Grieving.
Exhausted.
Barely functioning.
Joanna had taken control of the funeral arrangements, probate paperwork, property sale, and bank accounts.
At the time, Amelia had been grateful.
Joanna leaned against the counter.
“You were falling apart.
I held everything together.”
Amelia heard the familiar accusation hidden beneath the words.
You survived because of me.
Therefore you owe me forever.
“I want the records.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Then proving that should be easy.”
Joanna’s jaw tightened.
“Get out.”
Amelia turned toward the door.
Then Joanna spoke again.
“You really think you can rewrite history because your daughter cried?”
Amelia stopped.
She looked back.
“No.”
May you like
Her voice was calm.
“I think I’m finally going to read it.”
