Chapter 8: The Woman Who Wanted My Home
The first thing my father did was call Denise.
She didn’t answer.
He called again.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
I watched him standing in the middle of the living room, staring at his phone like he could force the truth to appear.
“She knows,” I said.
Dad looked at me.
“What?””
“She knows we found everything.””
Michael nodded.
“She wouldn’t have taken the documents if she didn’t.””
My father sat down.
His face looked older than it had that morning.
“I married her.””
Nobody spoke.
“I brought her into this house.””
His voice cracked.
“And I let her hurt my daughter.””
I looked at him.
For years, I had wanted him to see what I saw.
I wanted him to understand how alone I felt.
But seeing his regret now didn’t feel like victory.
It felt painful.
“Dad.””
He looked up.
“I should have listened.””
I sat beside him.
“You didn’t know.””
“I should have.””
I didn’t answer.
Because part of me agreed.
But another part remembered all the nights he worked late.
All the times he trusted the wrong people because he was trying to keep everything together.
Michael interrupted.
“We need to focus.””
Dad nodded.
“What do we do?””
“Find Denise before she destroys the evidence.””
I looked at him.
“Can she?””
Michael’s expression was serious.
“She can try.””
He opened his laptop again.
“Your mother’s trust has protections. But if someone gets access to certain documents, they could create legal confusion.””
“Meaning?””
“Meaning Denise and Richard may not be able to take the house immediately.””
He looked at me.
“But they can delay everything.””
I looked around the home.
The walls.
The photographs.
The place my mother fought to protect.
“They want me gone.””
Michael nodded.
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because you are the one person standing between them and control.””
That sentence stayed with me.
I wasn’t just a daughter being pushed out anymore.
I was the reason their plan had failed.
My phone suddenly rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone looked at me.
I answered.
“Hello?””
For several seconds, there was only silence.
Then a woman’s voice.
Denise.
“You should have left when I told you.””
My heart tightened.
“Where are you?””
“That doesn’t matter.””
“It does.””
She laughed softly.
“You still don’t understand.””
I stood.
“Understand what?””
“That your mother wasn’t protecting you.””
I frowned.
“What?””
“She was protecting herself.””
My father immediately looked at me.
“Emma, don’t listen.””
But I kept the phone to my ear.
“What are you talking about?””
Denise lowered her voice.
“Ask your father why your mother was investigating him.””
The words hit hard.
I looked at Dad.
His face changed.
Again.
Another secret.
“Denise.””
“What?””
“Stop playing games.””
“I’m not.””
Her voice became colder.
“You think I’m the villain because I told you to leave?””
“Yes.””
“Then ask yourself why your mother created a trust that excluded your father.””
Silence.
I had no answer.
Denise continued.
“She knew something.””
“What?””
“She knew your father wasn’t telling her everything.””
My grip tightened.
“Where are the documents?””
“You’ll never find them.””
“Why?””
“Because Richard already has them.””
Michael stepped closer and motioned for me to put the call on speaker.
I did.
Denise continued.
“And soon, you’ll learn the truth about the night your mother died.””
My father went pale.
“Denise.””
She paused.
Then said something that made the room freeze.
“James, you really thought I wouldn’t tell her?””
Nobody moved.
“What are you talking about?”” my father asked.
“You should have told Emma why her mother was in that car.””
My breath stopped.
“What car?””
Denise laughed quietly.
“The one that crashed.””
Dad closed his eyes.
I looked at him.
“Dad?””
He didn’t answer.
“Dad.””
The silence was enough.
A horrible realization spread through me.
My father knew something.
Something about my mother’s death.
Something he had hidden for seven years.
Denise spoke one final time.
“Ask him why he was the last person to see your mother alive.””
The call ended.
I stood there.
Unable to move.
Unable to breathe.
Because suddenly the question was no longer who wanted my house.
May you like
The question was:
What was my father hiding about my mother’s final night?
