Chapter 4: The Page She Tried to Destroy
I read the message three times.
Not because I didn’t understand it.
Because I couldn’t accept it.
*“Ask her about the night she burned the first page.””*
My eyes stayed fixed on the screen.
A photograph of Emily’s journal filled the top half of the message.
The cover was exactly how I remembered it.
Brown leather.
Small scratches along the edges.
A faded gold clasp that never closed properly.
Nia’s journal.
Or at least, what was left of it.
My hand tightened around my phone.
Vanessa noticed my expression.
“What happened?””
I looked at her.
And for the first time, I saw something I had ignored for years.
Not just guilt.
Fear.
Real fear.
“Who sent this?””
Her face changed.
“What?””
I turned the phone around.
She looked at the picture.
And the color drained from her face.
“Marcus…”
“Who sent it?””
“I don’t know.””
“That’s not an answer.””
She looked away.
The silence was enough.
“You know something.””
“No.””
“Vanessa.””
She stood up.
“I said no.””
Her voice was louder than before.
Defensive.
I had heard that tone many times.
Usually when she was trying to win an argument.
But now it sounded different.
Like she was trying to outrun a memory.
I picked up the phone.
“Who burned the first page?””
Her entire body went still.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then she whispered:
“You shouldn’t believe everything people tell you.””
I stared at her.
“That’s your response?””
“What do you want me to say?””
“The truth.””
She laughed quietly.
A broken sound.
“You want the truth now?””
The words bothered me.
“Now?””
She looked at me.
“You spent years believing everything was fine.””
I felt a sharp pain in my chest.
Because there was truth in that.
I had believed what I wanted to believe.
I wanted our blended family to work so badly that I ignored the signs.
But that didn’t excuse her.
“What happened to the journal?””
Vanessa sat down slowly.
“I didn’t burn it.””
“Then why did someone say you did?””
She looked at the floor.
“I don’t know.””
Another lie.
I knew it immediately.
And she knew I knew.
I walked toward the stairs.
“Nia needs to sleep.””
“Marcus.””
I stopped.
Her voice sounded different.
Smaller.
“I never wanted her to hate me.””
I turned around.
“Then why did you give her a reason to?””
She had no answer.
I went upstairs.
Nia was awake.
She was sitting on her bed surrounded by Emily’s things.
The box was open beside her.
She had placed everything carefully around her like she was afraid someone would take it away again.
When she saw me, she quickly wiped her eyes.
“Sorry.””
I frowned.
“For what?””
“I thought you and Vanessa were fighting because of me.””
I sat beside her.
“Nia.””
She looked at me.
“Listen to me.””
I took a breath.
“None of this is because of you.””
“But if I didn’t need new shoes…”
“No.””
My voice became firm.
“This has nothing to do with shoes.””
She looked down.
“Then why did it happen?””
I struggled to answer.
Because the honest answer was ugly.
“Because sometimes adults make choices they shouldn’t make.””
She touched the old photo album.
“Was Mom’s journal in here?””
I looked at the box.
“No.””
Her expression changed.
“What?””
I hated that I had to say it.
“There was something missing.””
She immediately became quiet.
“What?””
“A journal.””
Her fingers tightened around the stuffed rabbit.
“Mom’s journal?””
I nodded.
“I’m going to find it.””
She looked at me.
“Promise?””
That word hurt.
Because promises were easy to make.
Keeping them was harder.
“I promise.””
After she fell asleep, I went back downstairs.
Vanessa was still sitting in the same place.
The house felt unfamiliar.
Like I was living in someone else’s life.
I placed the phone on the table.
“Tell me about the journal.””
She didn’t move.
“I don’t know where it is.””
“You keep saying that.””
“Because it’s true.””
“Then why are you afraid?””
Her eyes lifted.
“I’m not.””
“You are.””
Silence.
Then she said:
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.””
I frowned.
“What does that mean?””
Vanessa looked toward the stairs.
Toward Nia’s room.
“I wanted her to move forward.””
I felt anger rise again.
“You don’t get to decide when someone stops missing their mother.””
“I know.””
“Do you?””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I know now.””
I shook my head.
“No. You knew then too.””
She looked down.
And finally, she said something I wasn’t expecting.
“I was jealous.””
The admission hung in the air.
I didn’t speak.
She continued.
“Not of Emily being gone.””
Her voice cracked.
“Of Emily still being here.””
I stared at her.
“She was everywhere.””
“She should have been.””
“I know.””
That was the first honest thing she had said all night.
“I walked into this house and everyone already loved someone who wasn’t there.””
She wiped her face.
“You loved Emily.””
“Yes.””
“You loved Nia because she was part of Emily.””
I felt my jaw tighten.
“She is my daughter.””
“I know.””
“You keep saying that, but your actions say something else.””
She closed her eyes.
“I made a mistake.””
“Where is the journal?””
She didn’t answer.
I waited.
Finally:
“I threw it away.””
The words were quiet.
But they hit like a scream.
I stared at her.
“You threw away Emily’s journal?””
“I didn’t know what it meant.””
“You didn’t know?””
“No.””
She started crying.
“She was writing things about your life together. About Nia. About everything.””
“So?””
“So I felt like I was competing with someone who wasn’t even alive.””
I stepped back.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“You were competing with a memory.””
“Yes.””
“And you punished my daughter for that.””
“No.””
“Yes.””
My voice echoed through the room.
“You took away the last things her mother left her.””
She covered her face.
“I was wrong.””
I looked at her.
“Where did you throw it?””
“I don’t remember.””
I closed my eyes.
Again.
Always the same answer.
No memory.
No responsibility.
Just excuses.
Then my phone rang.
Rachel.
I answered immediately.
“Rachel?””
“Marcus, did you find the box?””
“Yes.””
A pause.
“Did you find the journal?””
I looked at Vanessa.
“No.””
Rachel became quiet.
“Marcus…”
“What?””
“There’s something I never told you.””
My stomach tightened.
“What?””
“When I saw Vanessa with the box years ago, she wasn’t alone.””
I stood still.
“What do you mean?””
“There was someone else with her.””
“Who?””
Rachel hesitated.
“I didn’t know at the time.””
“Rachel.””
She sighed.
“I saw a child.””
I frowned.
“A child?””
“Yes.””
“What child?””
The answer came slowly.
“I think it was Ava.””
My eyes moved toward the staircase.
“No.””
“I’m sorry.””
“That doesn’t make sense.””
“Marcus, listen.””
I did.
“Before Vanessa took the box away, I heard Ava ask her something.””
“What?””
Rachel’s voice dropped.
“She asked, ‘Can I have the necklace too?’”
The room started spinning.
The necklace.
Emily’s necklace.
The one I gave Nia on her eighth birthday because it was the only piece of jewelry her mother wore every day.
I remembered Nia holding it.
Crying.
Saying she finally had something that smelled like her mom.
I looked at Vanessa.
“Where is the necklace?””
Her face went pale.
“Marcus…”
“Where is it?””
She didn’t answer.
And that was the moment I knew.
The journal wasn’t the only thing missing.
The box wasn’t the only thing Vanessa had taken.
I walked upstairs.
Not to wake Nia.
Not to scare her.
But because I needed to know.
I opened the old family storage cabinet in the hallway.
Inside were years of forgotten things.
School papers.
Christmas decorations.
Old photographs.
Then I saw it.
A small jewelry box.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Empty.
Except for one thing.
A folded piece of paper.
I unfolded it.
The handwriting wasn’t Emily’s.
It was Vanessa’s.
Only six words were written.
*“Some memories belong to the living.””*
I stared at the sentence.
Then I heard footsteps behind me.
Vanessa.
She was standing at the end of the hallway.
And for the first time, she wasn’t trying to defend herself.
She looked defeated.
“I can explain.””
I held up the note.
“No.””
My voice was quiet.
“I think you’ve explained enough.””
She started crying.
“Marcus…”
I looked at the empty jewelry box.
Then at her.
“Where is Emily’s necklace?””
Her lips trembled.
May you like
And after years of silence, she finally answered:
“I gave it to Ava.””
