Chapter 3
Aunt Sarah called 911.
Karen tried to stop her.
She said it was family drama.
She said Lucas was fine.
She said I was copying scary things I saw on television.
Aunt Sarah put the phone on speaker.
“My five-year-old nephew was almost force-fed a known allergen by his caregiver,” she said clearly.
Karen screamed, “I am his mother!”
Aunt Sarah looked at her.
“No. You are not.”
That sentence seemed to burn Karen more than any slap could have.
She lunged toward the envelope.
Aunt Sarah lifted it out of reach.
One of Dad’s coworkers, Mr. Greene, stepped forward.
“Karen, calm down.”
She turned on him.
“Don’t tell me to calm down in my own house.”
Aunt Sarah’s voice cut in.
“It isn’t your house either.”
Karen froze.
I did too.
“What?” I whispered.
Aunt Sarah looked at me.
Her face softened.
“This house belongs to your mother’s trust.”
Karen’s eyes filled with fury.
“You had no right to tell them.”
“They had every right to know.”
I looked at the house.
The big white house with blue shutters.
The house Karen always called hers.
The house where she told me I should be grateful for every meal.
The house where Lucas cried at night and whispered that he wished real Mommy could come back.
It was ours?
The sliding door opened.
Dad stepped out.
His face was pale.
His shirt was wrinkled.
He looked like he had heard enough to know he could not pretend anymore.
“Sarah,” he said.
Aunt Sarah stood.
“Daniel.”
Karen ran to him.
“Tell them. Tell them I’m their mother. Tell them I belong here.”
Dad looked at Lucas.
At me.
At the cake in the grass.
At Aunt Sarah’s envelope.
Then he looked at Karen.
“You promised me it was vanilla.”
Karen’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Dad’s voice broke.
“You told me the cake was vanilla.”
Aunt Sarah stared at him.
“You knew there was cake?”
“I ordered a safe one,” he said. “Karen said the bakery made a mistake and she fixed it.”
Karen stepped back.
Dad looked like he might be sick.
“Lucas could have died.”
Karen snapped, “He would have taken one bite and learned not to be dramatic.”
Dad’s face changed.
For the first time in my life, I saw him look at Karen the way I had always seen her.
Not beautiful.
Not helpful.
Dangerous.
He turned to Aunt Sarah.
“What else is in that envelope?”
May you like
Aunt Sarah’s answer made Karen gasp.
“Your wife’s final letter.”
