Chapter 2: The Signature That Wasn't Mine
“Tell me exactly what you've seen.””
Vanessa repeated the question, but her voice had changed.
The woman who had spent thirteen school days ordering me around now stood in the kitchen as if she'd discovered a bomb ticking beneath the floor.
I kept my eyes on the computer.
“I was checking my school email.””
“That isn't what I asked.””
“You asked what I'd seen.””
Her jaw tightened.
“Emily, don't play games with me.””
I turned toward her.
“Why is there a withdrawal notice with my name on it?””
For one brief second, she looked almost relieved.
Then she laughed.
It was the same light, dismissive laugh she used whenever I asked why my chores mattered more than my education.
“Oh, that.””
She walked toward the counter and placed her shopping bag beside the fruit bowl.
“That is an administrative matter.””
“An administrative matter?””
“Your father and I have been discussing your education.””
I stared at her.
“Dad never told me.””
“Your father has a great deal on his mind.””
“He would have told me.””
Her expression hardened.
“Would he?””
The question landed harder than it should have.
Vanessa had a talent for finding the exact place where my confidence was weakest.
She knew I missed my father.
She knew I defended him whenever she complained that he worked too much.
And she knew I desperately wanted to believe that our relationship hadn't changed.
I pointed at the screen.
“I didn't sign this.””
“Your father handled the paperwork.””
“That isn't his signature.””
The moment I said it, the kitchen seemed to become colder.
Vanessa glanced at the document.
Then she looked at me.
“You're sixteen, Emily. You don't have access to every decision adults make.””
“It's my education.””
“And your father is your legal guardian.””
“Then why didn't he tell me?””
“Because he knew you'd react exactly like this.””
She folded her arms.
I wanted to believe there was a reasonable explanation.
Maybe Dad had been considering a different school.
Maybe he'd misunderstood something.
Maybe the signature looked strange because the document had been scanned.
But the more I searched for an innocent explanation, the more frightened I became.
I knew my father's signature.
I'd watched him sign birthday cards, permission slips, and the forms for every science competition I'd entered since middle school.
His capital M always had a sharp first stroke.
The signature on the withdrawal notice had a rounded beginning and an unusually long final line.
It looked like someone had copied his name without understanding how he wrote it.
“Can I call him?”” I asked.
Vanessa's eyes narrowed.
“Why?””
“To ask him.””
“He's working.””
“I don't care. This is important.””
She stepped between me and the computer.
“You will not disturb your father over a decision he has already made.””
“But I haven't even seen the school.””
“You don't need to.””
“What kind of school is it?””
“A private boarding school.””
“Where?””
“Out of state.””
“How far?””
She sighed.
“Must you interrogate me about every little thing?””
I felt my hands begin to shake.
“You're sending me away?””
“Don't be dramatic.””
“I'm not being dramatic!””
My voice cracked.
For thirteen days, I'd swallowed every objection, every insult, and every desperate plea.
I had cleaned floors while my classmates studied.
I had missed exams while my friends worried about me.
I had watched my future shrink to the size of a kitchen table.
And now someone had submitted paperwork to remove me from the school I'd worked so hard to attend.
“I want to talk to Dad,” I said.
Vanessa stared at me for several seconds.
Then she smiled.
“Of course you do.””
She reached past me and closed the document.
“Finish dinner. We have guests coming tomorrow, and this house needs to be spotless.””
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
“You're not answering me.””
“I have answered you.””
“No, you haven't.””
Her smile disappeared.
“Be very careful, Emily.””
I stepped back.
She leaned closer.
“Your father is exhausted. He trusts me to manage things while he's away. If you start filling his head with accusations, you'll be the one who destroys this family.””
“I haven't accused you of anything.””
“Not yet.””
She picked up her shopping bag and walked toward the stairs.
“Dinner by six. And don't touch that computer again.””
I waited until I heard her bedroom door close.
Then I opened the document again.
I needed proof.
Not another argument.
Not another promise that Dad would understand.
Proof.
I took out a sheet of paper and wrote down everything I could remember.
The withdrawal notice.
The boarding school.
The strange signature.
The submission date.
Then I opened my school account and searched for the guidance counselor's email.
Her name was Mrs. Parker.
She'd helped me apply for a summer science program the previous year, and she had once told me that if I ever felt overwhelmed, I could ask her for help.
I began typing.
Dear Mrs. Parker,
I just discovered a withdrawal notice in my student account. I did not request to withdraw, and I don't understand why a transfer application has been submitted.
Could you please tell me who submitted these documents?
I stopped before sending it.
Vanessa had warned me not to touch the computer.
If she discovered the message, she would take away whatever little freedom I had left.
Then I remembered Lily's message.
Your seat has been empty for almost three weeks.
My classmates were moving forward.
I was the only one who knew something was wrong.
I pressed send.
The message disappeared into my outbox.
For the first time in thirteen days, I'd done something Vanessa hadn't ordered me to do.
I felt terrified.
I also felt a tiny flicker of hope.
At five forty-five, Noah woke up and asked for his dinner.
I roasted the chicken, mashed the potatoes, and steamed the vegetables while keeping one eye on the computer.
At six, Vanessa came downstairs wearing a silk blouse and fresh makeup.
She examined the table.
“The forks are crooked.””
I adjusted them.
“The potatoes need more butter.””
I added butter.
“And where is Noah's cup?””
I placed it beside his plate.
She sat down.
For the next twenty minutes, I served everyone while she criticized the food.
Then my phone began vibrating inside her purse.
I froze.
Vanessa noticed.
“What?””
“Nothing.””
She reached into her purse and pulled out the phone.
The screen lit up.
A message preview appeared from an unfamiliar number.
Michael, I need to discuss Emily's attendance and the withdrawal request as soon as possible.
Vanessa read it.
Her face changed.
She immediately turned off the screen.
“Who sent that?”” I asked.
“It's none of your business.””
“Was it from my school?””
She placed the phone beside her plate.
“Eat your dinner.””
“Vanessa—”
“Eat.””
I lowered my eyes.
But my mind was racing.
Someone at school had contacted Dad.
Or at least, someone believed they were contacting him.
I wondered whether he knew about the absences.
Whether he'd received the guidance counselor's messages.
Whether he'd seen the withdrawal request.
And whether Vanessa had been intercepting his communications the same way she intercepted mine.
After dinner, I washed the dishes while she bathed Noah.
When I finished, I went upstairs to retrieve my chemistry textbook.
My bedroom door was closed.
That alone made me pause.
Vanessa never closed my door unless she was searching through my things.
I pushed it open.
My backpack lay on the bed.
Every pocket had been turned inside out.
My notebooks were scattered across the floor.
The small box where I kept my mother's old photographs sat open on the dresser.
I hurried toward it.
The photographs were still there.
But the envelope containing my mother's handwritten letters was missing.
I searched beneath the bed.
Inside the desk drawers.
Behind the books on my shelf.
Nothing.
My mother had written those letters when she was undergoing treatment, leaving me messages for birthdays and milestones she feared she might not live to see.
After she died, Dad had given them to me.
He told me that whenever I felt alone, I could read her words and remember how deeply I was loved.
Vanessa knew how much they meant to me.
I had never let her read them.
A floorboard creaked behind me.
I turned.
Vanessa stood in the doorway.
“Looking for something?””
“Where are my mother's letters?””
She tilted her head.
“Your room is a mess.””
“You went through my things.””
“I was looking for something that doesn't belong here.””
“What?””
She glanced at the open box.
Then she looked straight into my eyes.
“Something your father should never have allowed you to keep.””
My heart pounded.
“What are you talking about?””
She stepped into the room and shut the door.
“Listen carefully, Emily. You have a choice.””
I backed toward the desk.
“You can cooperate with the transfer, keep your mouth shut, and make this easy for everyone.””
“And if I don't?””
“Then your father will learn about every lie you've told.””
“I haven't lied!””
She gave me a cold smile.
“That's what you think.””
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
It was a printed copy of my school attendance record.
Thirteen absences.
Beside each one was a note explaining that I had been ill or had a family emergency.
At the bottom was a signature.
Mine.
Except I hadn't written it.
Vanessa held the paper between two fingers.
“You see, Emily, paperwork has a wonderful way of telling a story.””
I stared at my forged signature.
She leaned closer.
“And when your father reads this, he'll have to decide which daughter he believes.””
My throat tightened.
I had spent my entire life trusting Dad to protect me.
Now someone was building a case to make me look like a liar.
And the missing letters from my mother suggested this had become much more than a disagreement about school.
Vanessa placed the attendance record on my desk.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “you will tell your father that you've agreed to the transfer.””
Then she opened the door.
“And Emily?””
I looked up.
“If you mention the letters, I'll make sure he never hears the truth about your mother.””
She walked away before I could ask what she meant.
I stood frozen in the middle of my room.
Because suddenly, I wasn't just afraid of losing my education.
May you like
I was afraid Vanessa knew something about my mother's final days that Dad had never told me.
And whatever it was, she was willing to use it to keep me silent.
