Chapter 5: The Woman Who Wanted My Mother's Life
The next morning, my father didn't go to work.
He didn't answer business calls.
He didn't leave the house.
He sat at the kitchen table with every document spread out in front of him.
For the first time in my life, I saw my father look lost.
Not tired.
Not stressed.
Lost.
Like everything he believed about the past had collapsed overnight.
I walked into the kitchen quietly.
"Daddy?""
He looked up.
Immediately, his expression softened.
"Hey, sweetheart.""
I sat beside him.
"What did the paper say?""
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he turned the document around.
"I don't want you to worry about adult problems.""
I frowned.
"Everyone says that.""
He looked surprised.
"What?""
"Every time something bad happens, adults say that.""
I touched the paper.
"But I already have the problem.""
My father looked at me.
And he understood.
I wasn't asking to be involved.
I was asking to stop being invisible.
He took a deep breath.
"Your mother changed her will six months before she died.""
"What did she change?""
"She removed Tasha.""
I blinked.
"She was in the will?""
"At first.""
My father looked ashamed.
"Your mother wanted to include everyone. She believed people could change.""
I looked at the papers.
"Then why did she remove her?""
My father swallowed.
"Because she found out Tasha was trying to get control of money that belonged to you.""
The kitchen became silent.
The same thing she had done years later.
The same thing she had tried again.
Money.
Always money.
My father continued.
"Your mother wrote that if anything happened to her, I needed to be careful.""
"She knew?""
"She suspected.""
I looked toward the stairs.
"Tasha knew?""
My father nodded slowly.
"She must have.""
That afternoon, Tasha came back.
She stood outside the house with a suitcase.
But she wasn't crying.
She wasn't apologizing.
She looked angry.
My father opened the door.
"What do you want?""
She looked past him.
At me.
"Lily.""
I moved closer to my father.
Tasha noticed.
Her jaw tightened.
"You're really letting a child destroy this family?""
My father laughed quietly.
But there was no humor in it.
"No.""
He stepped outside.
"You did that yourself.""
Her face changed.
"Malcolm, think carefully.""
"I have been thinking for eight months.""
The words hit her.
"You left me alone with her.""
My father looked away for a second.
Then back at her.
"Yes.""
It was the first time he admitted it.
"I did.""
Tasha's expression softened.
She thought she had found weakness.
"I loved you.""
My father shook his head.
"No.""
She froze.
"I loved the person you pretended to be.""
For the first time, Tasha looked hurt.
But it disappeared quickly.
"You'll regret this.""
My father didn't respond.
She turned away.
Then stopped.
"Before I leave, you should ask your daughter what she remembers about the night your wife died.""
My father's face changed.
"What?""
Tasha smiled slightly.
"You never asked her.""
Then she walked away.
I felt cold.
Because I didn't understand.
What did I remember?
I was only three years old when my mother died.
I remembered pieces.
A red blanket.
My mother's voice.
A hospital bracelet.
And something else.
Something I had forgotten.
That night, my father sat beside my bed.
"Lily.""
I looked at him.
"Do you remember anything from when your mother was sick?""
I shook my head.
"Not really.""
He hesitated.
"Anything strange?""
I closed my eyes.
At first, nothing came.
Then suddenly...
A door.
A loud argument.
My mother crying.
And a woman saying:
"You'll never take what's mine.""
I opened my eyes.
My father looked terrified.
"What?""
I whispered:
"I heard someone.""
"Who?""
I looked at him.
"I don't know.""
But I did remember one thing.
A necklace.
My mother wore a silver necklace every day.
A small heart pendant.
The night she died, it was missing.
"Daddy.""
"What?""
"Mommy's necklace.""
He stared at me.
"What about it?""
"She wasn't wearing it.""
My father became completely still.
Because he remembered.
The necklace had never been found.
The next morning, Uncle Daniel arrived with news.
"I found something.""
My father turned.
"What?""
Daniel placed a photograph on the table.
It was old.
A picture of my mother.
Standing beside Tasha.
My stomach tightened.
I had never seen them together before.
My father picked it up.
"When was this taken?""
Daniel answered:
"Before you met Tasha.""
Nobody moved.
My father looked closer.
Then he noticed something.
In the background of the photograph was a house.
A house I recognized.
Because it was our old house.
The one where my mother died.
My father whispered:
"Why were they together?""
Nobody had an answer.
Then Daniel pulled out another piece of evidence.
A newspaper clipping.
A name was circled.
Tasha's name.
The headline was from years ago.
And it revealed something none of us expected.
Before she became my stepmother...
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Tasha had known my mother.
And she hadn't met her by accident.
