Chapter 7 - The Woman at My Door
Carla reached my apartment before I did.
She was waiting in the hallway when I came up the stairs, breathless and shaking.
My mother stood beside my open door.
A grocery bag hung from her wrist.
“I brought food,” she said.
Carla pointed to the lock.
“And let herself in.”
Mom’s mouth tightened.
“I’m her mother.”
“That’s not a key policy.”
Under different circumstances, I might have laughed.
I stepped into the doorway and checked the living room.
Nothing looked disturbed.
That didn’t mean anything.
“Give me the key.”
Mom stared.
“Hannah.”
“Put it on the table.”
She set down the grocery bag instead.
Inside were oranges, bread, and the brand of cereal Emma liked.
That almost broke me.
Even now, she knew exactly where to place the knife.
“I’ve helped you for years,” she said.
“You’ve reminded me for years.”
“Who watched Emma when you had conferences?”
“You did.”
“Who helped when your marriage fell apart?”
“You did.”
“And this is how you repay me?”
I looked at her.
“You used my identity.”
Her eyes flickered.
Just once.
Carla stayed beside the door.
Mom noticed.
“Can we speak without an audience?”
“No.”
She lowered her voice anyway.
“Rachel was going to replace the money.”
There it was.
Not confusion.
Not denial.
A plan that had failed.
“With what?”
“After the wedding, things would have been easier.”
I thought of Daniel raising his glass.
Complete trust.
A future my sister had already priced.
“Did you know she put the account in my name?”
Mom looked toward the kitchen.
“Answer me.”
“She said it was temporary.”
I had imagined hearing that admission would feel powerful.
It felt like losing a floor beneath my feet.
“Where is the blue folder?”
“Safe.”
“Give it to the detective.”
“Hannah, please.”
“The key.”
This time, she put it on the table.
When she left, I called my landlord about changing the lock.
Then I checked the drawer where I kept my personal papers.
My old tax return was missing.
So was the envelope containing copies of Emma’s medical forms.
I didn’t know when either had disappeared.
I sat on the floor and took photographs of the empty spaces.
Carla sat beside me.
“You don’t have to be calm.”
“I know.”
But if I let myself begin, I wasn’t sure where I would stop.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Rachel.
You have no idea what that kid is going to cost you.
May you like
I saved it.
Then, for the first time, I was afraid to send Emma to school.
