Chapter 5
When I got back to the house, my father was sitting on the porch steps.
He looked older than he had that morning.
Not tired.
Cracked.
He stood when I walked up.
Tasha stayed by the car.
Aunt Cheryl had followed us too, because she said somebody needed to keep “grown fools from making fresh damage.”
My father looked at the papers in my hand.
“You know about the money.”
I nodded.
“Did you?”
His face twisted.
“Not until tonight.”
I wanted to believe him.
I didn’t know if I could.
“You lived in that house.”
“I paid the mortgage on that house for years.”
“With what down payment?”
He looked away.
My chest tightened.
“You knew something was off.”
“I knew your mother got money after Denise died. She told me it was family help. I didn’t know it was yours.”
“Did you ask?”
His jaw tightened.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because we needed that house.”
There it was.
Not guilt.
Not innocence.
Need.
I walked past him.
Inside, my mother sat at the kitchen table.
The same table.
The envelope was gone.
The floor had been swept.
Like cleaning could fix the truth.
She looked up when I entered.
Her eyes were swollen.
“Andre.”
I placed Denise’s letter on the table.
My mother saw the handwriting and started shaking.
“You read it.”
“Yes.”
“She loved you,” my mother whispered.
“She trusted you.”
That hit her.
She covered her face.
“I know.”
“Did you steal my trust?”
My father stepped inside behind me.
My mother looked between us.
“I used it to raise you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I used it.”
The room went silent.
Tasha made a sound near the doorway.
My mother turned to her.
“Tasha, baby—”
“No,” Tasha said. “Don’t baby me right now.”
My mother flinched.
Good.
I needed her to feel some of what I felt.
“How much?” I asked.
She stared at the table.
“All of it.”
My knees almost gave.
“All of it?”
“It wasn’t at once.”
“That makes it better?”
“No.”
“What did you spend it on?”
“The house. Bills. Your school. Food. Medical. Clothes. Marcus lost his job twice. Tasha was born sick. We were drowning.”
“So you used the money Denise left for me.”
“I was trying to keep you with us.”
“You could have told me.”
“I was afraid you’d leave.”
“I was a child!”
“And I was terrified!”
She stood so suddenly the chair scraped.
“I was twenty-six, Andre. Twenty-six. Denise died in my arms. You were two days old. Social services was asking questions. Her mother wanted nothing to do with you until she heard there might be money. Your biological father’s family came around asking if there was a settlement. Everybody wanted something. Nobody wanted the baby.”
Her voice broke.
“I wanted the baby.”
I froze.
She pointed at her chest.
“I took you home. I fed you. I stayed up nights when you had colic. I fought doctors when your fever wouldn’t go down. I went to every game, every parent conference, every emergency room visit. I loved you like my own because you were my own.”
Tears streamed down her face.
“But then the money came, and I told myself I was using it for you. Then for the house, because you needed a home. Then for bills, because you needed lights. Then for Tasha’s medicine, because she needed care too. Every time I crossed a line, I moved the line.”
The kitchen was silent.
She whispered, “By the time I realized I had stolen from you, you were calling me Mama. And I was too selfish to risk losing that.”
That was the first honest thing she had said all night.
It made everything worse.
Because I believed her.
And I hated her.
May you like
And I loved her.
All at once.
