Chapter 7
The doctor said Mai needed routine.
The therapist said she needed safety.
Linh said she needed a purple toothbrush because sisters should not share toothbrush colors.
So we bought two purple toothbrushes.
One light purple.
One dark purple.
That became our first official sister argument.
“I want dark purple,” Linh said.
Mai whispered, “Me too.”
Linh stared at her.
Then sighed like a very tired adult.
“Fine. You had a wall. You get dark purple.”
Mai smiled.
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Both girls looked at me.
Then they laughed too.
For three seconds, the house felt normal.
We did not stay at the Caldwells forever.
I rented a small place nearby.
Two bedrooms.
Old kitchen.
No hidden rooms.
Before signing the lease, Linh inspected every wall.
Mai watched from the doorway.
I let them knock, push, open closets, look behind curtains.
The landlord looked confused.
I said, “Family habit.”
We moved in with help from the Caldwells.
Mrs. Caldwell filled the freezer.
Mr. Caldwell built bunk beds with me while silently judging my use of screws.
He was right to.
I was terrible at it.
Mai chose the bottom bunk because it felt safer.
Linh chose the top because she wanted to guard.
That night, I tucked them in.
Mai touched the blanket.
“This is mine?”
“Yes.”
“If I keep it?”
“Yes.”
“If I spill?”
“We wash it.”
She thought about that.
“Grandma said washing costs money.”
“Grandma was wrong about many things.”
Linh leaned over the top bunk.
“She was wrong about everything important.”
Mai nodded solemnly.
In the hallway, I slid down the wall and cried.
Quietly.
Not because things were worse.
Because they were finally becoming better, and better hurt too.
The investigation found more.
My mother had collected disability checks in Mai’s name using falsified records.
She had claimed Mai was institutionalized under private care.
The money went into an account only she controlled.
Not a fortune.
Enough to prove calculation.
Enough to destroy her “overwhelmed grandmother” defense.
The retired doctor who signed the false stillbirth certificate made a deal.
He admitted my mother paid him.
He admitted he never saw a body.
He admitted hospital administration failed to verify.
He admitted An’s letter was likely hidden by my mother after her death.
I sat through his statement with my hands folded.
I wanted rage.
Instead, I felt hollow.
So many adults.
So many chances.
One baby hidden because enough people looked away.
Mai began school slowly.
Not full days at first.
A specialist program.
Small class.
Patient teachers.
The first morning, she stood at the entrance shaking.
Linh grabbed her hand.
“I’ll be down the hall.”
Mai whispered, “What if I get scared?”
“Tell the teacher.”
“What if she doesn’t believe me?”
Linh looked at me.
I crouched in front of Mai.
“Then she calls me. And I come.”
“Every time?”
“Every time.”
She searched my face.
Then nodded.
At noon, the school called.
My heart nearly stopped.
Mai had hidden under a desk when someone slammed a locker.
I left work in the middle of a repair job and drove there with my hands shaking.
When I arrived, she was in the counselor’s office holding a stuffed rabbit.
She looked up, stunned.
“You came.”
I knelt.
“I said I would.”
Her face crumpled.
She ran into my arms.
May you like
That day, she learned one new rule.
Daddy comes.
