Chapter 3 - THE IPAD
I photographed the label before Ashley could stop me.
“Give me the box.”
Emma pulled it against her chest.
“No!”
“It isn’t yours.”
“Mom bought it!”
“With whose money?”
Ashley stepped between us.
“Don’t drag Emma into this.”
“You already did.”
Emma looked frightened.
Good.
Not because I wanted fear.
Because she finally understood the adults were discussing something more serious than a birthday present.
Ashley lowered her voice.
“I didn’t know where the money came from.”
“The account has Noah’s initials.”
“I never saw that sticker.”
“Who ordered it?”
“Mom.”
Our mother again.
Emma whispered:
“Grandma said it was my reward.”
Ashley spun toward her.
“Reward for what?”
Emma froze.
I did too.
“What reward?”
“Nothing.”
“Emma.”
She looked at her mother.
Ashley’s face had gone pale again.
“Get in the car.”
Emma shook her head.
“Grandma said if I did the party thing right—”
Ashley grabbed the iPad.
“What party thing?”
Emma’s chin began trembling.
“The cake.”
Silence.
My stomach dropped.
I stepped back.
“Grandma told you to shove Noah into the cake?”
“No.”
Emma said it too fast.
Ashley crouched in front of her.
“Tell me exactly what she said.”
Emma began crying.
“She said Noah needed to stop acting like everything was his.”
My mind returned to the party.
My mother watching.
Her expression after I kicked Emma.
Confirmation.
“What else?”
“She said I should embarrass him.”
Ashley whispered:
“Why?”
“So Auntie would lose it.”
My blood went cold.
“And then?”
Emma looked at me.
“Grandma said if I made you really mad, I’d get the iPad.”
Ashley sat down on my front step.
The box rested beside her.
For several seconds nobody spoke.
My mother had used one grandchild to provoke me into attacking another.
Why?
The insurance documents sat in my hand.
Guardianship.
My forged signature.
I thought I knew.
Then Ashley whispered:
“She wanted video.”
“What?”
Ashley looked up.
“Mom has the whole backyard covered by cameras.”
I closed my eyes.
My kick.
Recorded.
A mother violently striking a twelve-year-old niece.
Perfect evidence for anyone trying to argue I was unstable.
Or dangerous.
Or unfit.
The certified envelope suddenly felt heavier.
I called the number on the insurer’s compliance letter.
A woman answered.
“Northwest Mutual Special Claims.”
“My name is—”
I gave it.
A pause.
“Ma’am, we’ve been trying to contact you.”
“When?”
“For almost four months.”
“I have received nothing.”
“We mailed six notices.”
“To where?”
She read an address.
My parents’ house.
I felt sick.
“Why?”
“That is the mailing address on the court-approved guardianship paperwork.”
Court-approved.
Not merely insurance paperwork.
May you like
My mother had not only forged my signature.
Someone had taken that forged form into a legal proceeding.
