Chapter 2: Eleven Days
The room seemed to shrink after Tasha said those words.
My father didn't move.
Neither did Denise.
Even the refrigerator seemed too loud.
Dad slowly turned toward Tasha.
“What did you call me?””
Tasha wiped her face.
“I said that's not the worst thing.””
Denise grabbed her daughter's wrist.
“Enough.””
Tasha pulled away.
“No.””
Her voice shook, but she didn't lower it.
“No, Mom. I'm done.””
Dad looked between them.
“Tasha, come here.””
She hesitated.
Then walked around the table.
Denise stood.
“Arthur, you don't understand what's happening.””
Dad raised one hand.
“Don't.””
His voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Denise stopped.
Dad looked at me.
“Maya, sit down.””
I obeyed.
He pulled out a chair beside me.
“Tell me everything.””
My hands trembled.
“I went to the hospital because I fainted at school.””
His face tightened.
“When?””
“Eleven days ago.””
“And you were alone?””
I nodded.
“The school called Denise.””
Dad looked toward her.
“Why didn't they call me?””
Denise crossed her arms.
“They said it wasn't an emergency.””
I stared at her.
“That isn't true.””
She turned sharply.
“Maya—”
“The nurse called you twice.””
Denise's eyes narrowed.
“You were unconscious. You don't know what happened.””
“I woke up before they took me to the hospital.””
Dad leaned toward me.
“What did the doctors say?””
I pulled another folded paper from my pocket.
“I don't understand all of it.””
He took it.
“Abnormal cardiac rhythm,” he read.
His fingers tightened around the paper.
“They recommended additional testing.””
I nodded.
“They said I needed to see a cardiologist.””
Dad looked at Denise.
“And?””
She said nothing.
I answered for her.
“She told me we couldn't afford it.””
Dad stared.
“You couldn't afford it?””
Denise finally spoke.
“Arthur, you were out of town.””
“I have health insurance.””
“You know how complicated everything is.””
“No.””
His voice became sharper.
“Explain it simply.””
Denise's mouth opened.
Closed.
Dad stood.
“You had ten thousand dollars.””
“That money was for the household.””
“No. It wasn't.””
“I had four children who needed things.””
“And Maya needed medical care.””
“She wasn't dying.””
The words hit the room like a gunshot.
I looked at my father.
He looked at Denise.
“What did you just say?””
Denise's confidence faltered.
“I didn't mean—”
“You said my daughter wasn't dying.””
“I meant she was stable.””
Dad's hands curled into fists.
“You're a mother.””
“So are you,” she shot back.
The words hung there.
Dad stared at her.
Then he laughed once.
Coldly.
“You're right.””
He pointed at me.
“And apparently I forgot how to act like one.””
Denise shook her head.
“You're being manipulated.””
I flinched.
Dad noticed.
He stepped between us.
“Don't you ever call her manipulative again.””
Denise's expression hardened.
“You don't know what she's like when you're gone.””
“I know what she's wearing.””
He picked up my shirt from the table.
“I know what she eats.””
He pointed toward the kitchen.
“I know what she drives.””
His eyes moved toward my old sedan visible through the window.
“And now I know what happens when she gets sick.””
Tasha began crying again.
“Dad…”
Dad turned toward her.
“You knew?””
She nodded.
“How much?””
Tasha looked at Denise.
Her mother shook her head.
Tasha swallowed.
“Everything.””
Denise whispered, “Tasha.””
But Tasha kept going.
“I was there when Maya came home from the hospital.””
Dad's eyes widened.
“What?””
“She was barely standing.””
I remembered that night.
The rain.
The wet pavement.
The cold front porch.
I had stood there for nearly ten minutes because I didn't want to walk into the house and have Denise ask why I was home early.
Tasha had opened the door.
She had seen my hospital bracelet.
She had seen me shaking.
She had wanted to call Dad.
Denise had stopped her.
Dad looked at Tasha.
“Why didn't you?””
Tasha's eyes filled with tears.
“Mom took my phone.””
Denise immediately snapped, “Because you were being dramatic.””
“You locked me in my room!””
“I was protecting this family.””
“No,” Tasha said.
“You were protecting yourself.””
Dad stared at Denise.
“What does that mean?””
Tasha looked at me.
Then back at him.
“There's more money.””
Denise went completely still.
Dad's voice dropped.
“How much?””
Tasha shook her head.
“I don't know.””
“Where?””
“In Mom's office.””
Denise stepped forward.
“Tasha, stop.””
Dad looked at her.
“Why?””
“Because this is ridiculous.””
“Then it shouldn't matter if I look.””
Denise's eyes darted toward the hallway.
That tiny movement told Dad everything.
He walked out of the dining room.
Denise followed.
“Arthur, don't go in there.””
He kept walking.
“Arthur!””
He reached the office door.
She grabbed his arm.
He looked down at her hand.
“Let go.””
She did.
Dad opened the door.
The office was immaculate.
Denise kept everything organized.
Bills in folders.
Receipts in labeled envelopes.
Family documents in a locked cabinet.
Dad crossed the room.
He opened the cabinet.
Empty.
He looked back.
“Where are the records?””
Denise said nothing.
Dad opened a drawer.
Nothing.
Another.
Nothing.
Then he noticed a small black box beneath the desk.
He picked it up.
Denise lunged.
“Arthur, please.””
He opened it.
Inside were envelopes.
Dozens of them.
Cash withdrawal receipts.
Credit card statements.
Bank transfer confirmations.
Dad picked up the first envelope.
His eyes moved across the page.
“Three thousand dollars.””
Another.
“Five thousand.””
Another.
“Two thousand.””
He looked at Denise.
“What is this?””
She whispered, “Household expenses.””
“Household expenses?””
He held up a receipt.
“For a jewelry store?””
Silence.
Another.
“A resort in Miami?””
Silence.
Another.
“Private school tuition?””
Denise finally spoke.
“That was for Tasha.””
Tasha appeared in the doorway.
“My tuition was already paid.””
Dad turned.
“What?””
Tasha shook her head.
“Mom told you I needed another semester.””
Denise's face crumbled.
Dad looked back at the papers.
There were more.
Much more.
Then he found a document that wasn't a receipt.
It was a bank statement.
And one line caught his attention.
A recurring transfer.
Every month.
$2,500.
To an account Dad didn't recognize.
He stared at it.
“Whose account is this?””
Denise didn't answer.
He looked at her.
“Whose?””
She whispered a name.
Dad's expression changed.
“What?””
“It's… my brother's.””
Dad stared.
“Your brother died three years ago.””
Denise's face went white.
Nobody spoke.
Dad checked the account number again.
Then the statement date.
Then the name.
“This isn't your brother's account.””
Denise took a step backward.
Dad's voice was almost a whisper.
“Who is receiving my money?””
Denise said nothing.
Then Dad's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
A number from Grady Memorial Hospital.
He answered.
“Hello?””
His expression changed as he listened.
“Yes, I'm her father.””
A pause.
Then another.
His eyes moved toward me.
“What do you mean, the records were altered?””
I stood.
My heart began pounding.
Dad listened for several seconds.
Then he asked—
“Who signed the authorization?””
The room went silent.
He looked directly at Denise.
The color drained from her face.
Dad slowly pulled the phone away from his ear.
“It's you.””
Denise shook her head.
“Arthur…”
“You signed medical authorization documents in my daughter's name.””
“I had permission.””
“From whom?””
She couldn't answer.
Dad raised the phone again.
“Can you send me a copy?””
Another pause.
“Yes.””
He hung up.
I stared at him.
“What did they say?””
Dad didn't answer immediately.
He looked at the hospital bill.
Then the bank statements.
Then Denise.
Finally, he said something that made my stomach drop.
“The hospital says you were listed as the person responsible for making medical decisions for Maya.””
Denise whispered, “I was trying to help.””
Dad shook his head.
“No.””
He stepped closer.
“You were trying to control what I knew.””
And then he saw the last document inside the black box.
His hand froze.
It was an insurance form.
My name was on it.
But underneath my name was another line.
A beneficiary designation.
Dad's eyes widened.
“Denise…”
She started crying.
“Please.””
He looked at the signature.
It was supposed to be mine.
But it wasn't.
Dad whispered—
“Maya, you didn't sign this, did you?””
I stared at the paper.
Then at the signature.
My blood ran cold.
“No.””
Dad's face hardened.
May you like
Because someone had forged my signature.
And whoever did it had just given him a reason to open every locked door in that house.
