Chapter 12 - FORTY-EIGHT HOURS
The next two days were chaos.
Bank investigators.
Police interviews.
Child welfare questions.
Lawyers.
Maisie saw a pediatrician.
The mark on her face would fade.
What worried the doctor more was how Maisie reacted when someone raised their voice.
She covered her head.
Every single time.
The first time I saw it, I had to leave the room to cry.
Evan saw it too.
He sat in the hallway with his face in his hands.
“I did this.”
I stood across from him.
“No.”
He looked up.
“Your mother did.”
His expression collapsed with relief.
Then I finished.
“But you helped her continue by refusing to see it.”
That hurt him.
It needed to.
“I know.”
The bank traced the missing money.
Margaret had transferred it hours before the birthday dinner.
To four accounts.
One was in Nathan’s name.
Two were shell companies.
The fourth belonged to Evan.
He stared at the paperwork.
“I didn’t open this.”
The investigator nodded.
“We believe your mother did.”
Evan laughed bitterly.
“My whole life is accounts I didn’t know existed.”
Nathan recovered part of the money using old login information.
Tessa worked with police.
Dad found an attorney for me.
And Evan?
Evan moved into a motel.
He never asked to come home.
Mostly because I didn’t have a home anymore.
Margaret’s ownership stake made the house complicated.
I refused to return while the legal fight continued.
One evening, Evan came to Dad’s house.
He brought Maisie a stuffed yellow duck.
She hid behind my leg.
His face shattered.
“Hey, bug.”
Maisie peeked around me.
“Daddy.”
He knelt.
“I’m sorry.”
She stared at him.
Then asked:
“Nana come?”
“No.”
He started crying.
“No, sweetheart. Nana isn’t coming.”
Maisie slowly walked toward him.
He didn’t touch her until she reached for him first.
When she did, Evan buried his face against her hair.
I turned away.
I still loved him.
That was the problem.
Love didn’t erase cowardice.
Love didn’t restore trust.
Later, on the porch, he said:
“I started therapy.”
“Good.”
“I’m not telling you because I expect you back.”
“Good.”
“I signed something.”
He handed me a folder.
He had transferred his share of the house to me.
“What is this?”
“My mother tied you to that house through me.”
He swallowed.
“I’m cutting the rope.”
I looked at him.
“Evan…”
“I know it doesn’t fix anything.”
“No.”
“It’s just the first thing I’ve done without asking someone else what they think.”
For the first time since the birthday dinner, I believed him.
Then my phone rang.
Officer Ramirez.
“We found something on Margaret’s laptop.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“A scheduled email.”
May you like
“To who?”
“You.”
