Chapter 5: The Woman Who Wanted Me Gone
I didn’t sleep that night.
I sat on my bedroom floor with my mother’s journal open beside me, reading the same pages over and over.
Every word felt like a message from someone who had known exactly what would happen.
Exactly what kind of person I would become.
Quiet.
Patient.
Always questioning myself.
My mother had seen it before I did.
The next morning, I walked downstairs carrying the journal.
I wasn’t hiding anymore.
That was the first thing that felt different.
Usually, I entered rooms hoping nobody would be angry.
That morning, I entered knowing I had a right to answers.
Diane was making coffee.
She looked at me.
Then immediately looked at the journal.
“You shouldn’t have that.””
I stopped.
Not “Good morning.””
Not “Emily, we need to talk.””
Just:
“You shouldn’t have that.””
I placed the journal on the counter.
“My mother wanted me to.””
Diane’s jaw tightened.
“Your mother was emotional.””
“She was afraid.””
“She was sick.””
“She was suspicious.””
Diane turned around.
“Be careful.””
The warning in her voice surprised me.
Not because it was threatening.
Because it sounded familiar.
It sounded like every time she had convinced me to stay quiet.
“Careful of what?””
“Making accusations you can’t prove.””
I looked at her.
For years, those words had worked.
They made me doubt myself.
They made me apologize.
Not anymore.
“Funny,” I said.
“That’s exactly what you told me yesterday.””
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I noticed.
“You’re acting differently.””
“Yes.””
“Because you found a few old papers?””
“No.””
I looked directly at her.
“Because I finally know I wasn’t imagining things.””
Before she could answer, Dad walked in.
“Enough.””
Both of us turned.
He looked exhausted.
“I think we all need to talk.””
Diane crossed her arms.
“About what?””
“About the truth.””
She laughed.
A short, nervous laugh.
“You still believe that journal?””
Dad’s eyes narrowed.
“I believe my wife wrote it.””
The word wife seemed to hurt her.
Because he wasn’t talking about Diane.
He was talking about my mother.
Dad placed a folder on the table.
“I contacted the company accountant last night.””
Diane’s face changed.
“What?””
“He confirmed the missing funds.””
Silence.
“How much?”” I asked.
Dad looked at me.
“Almost two hundred thousand dollars.””
My stomach dropped.
“And you think Diane took it?””
“I don’t know.””
Diane stood.
“This is ridiculous.””
Dad didn’t move.
“Then explain.””
“I don’t have to defend myself against a dead woman’s accusations.””
The sentence made the room freeze.
Dad stared at her.
“Don’t talk about her like that.””
Diane looked away.
For the first time, I saw something beneath her confidence.
Panic.
“I was there for you after she died,” Diane said.
“Yes.””
“I helped raise Emily.””
I almost laughed.
Helped?
Was that what she called it?
The years of comparing me to Vanessa?
The comments?
The constant reminder that I was lucky to be included?
Dad looked at her.
“You did.””
“But now you’re treating me like a criminal.””
“Because you’re hiding something.””
Her face hardened.
“I’m done with this conversation.””
She turned.
“Diane.””
She stopped.
Dad’s voice lowered.
“Where were you the night Emily’s mother died?””
I froze.
The question hit the room like glass breaking.
Diane slowly turned back.
“What?””
“You heard me.””
“Why are you asking me that?””
“Because your story changed.””
I looked between them.
“What story?””
Dad didn’t answer.
Diane did.
“She was always suspicious.””
My heart started beating faster.
“Dad?””
He looked at me.
“Your mother’s accident happened after she left the house.””
“What accident?””
Nobody spoke.
I stared.
“What accident?””
Dad closed his eyes.
Then he said:
“She crashed her car.””
I felt sick.
“And you never told me?””
“You were nine.””
“I deserved to know.””
“I was trying to protect you.””
Again.
That word.
Protect.
The word adults used when they wanted to hide things.
Then Vanessa appeared in the doorway.
She looked nervous.
“Dad.””
Everyone turned.
“I found something else.””
She held a small flash drive.
My heart stopped.
“Where did you get that?””
“Inside Mom’s box.””
Dad took it.
“What is it?””
Vanessa looked at Diane.
“I think it’s why Mom was afraid.””
Diane immediately stepped forward.
“Give me that.””
Dad moved it away.
“No.””
Her voice sharpened.
“Arthur, you don’t understand.””
“No.””
He looked at her.
“I think I finally do.””
That evening, Dad connected the flash drive to his computer.
The screen showed only one video file.
Created two weeks before my mother died.
My hands went cold.
Because the file name wasn’t a date.
It wasn’t random.
It was my name.
*For Emily.*
Dad clicked it.
The video loaded.
My mother appeared on the screen.
Older.
Tired.
But alive.
I covered my mouth.
I hadn’t seen her face move in years.
Then she looked directly into the camera.
And the first words she said destroyed the last bit of certainty I had.
“If Emily is watching this, it means I was right about who I trusted.””
My father stopped breathing.
Diane stood frozen.
May you like
And my mother continued.
“The person who caused my accident is someone inside our family.””
