Chapter 7
That night after the envelope arrived, the house felt split in half.
Dad had left the thick letter from Mr. Patel on the dining table where Stepmother had been staring at it. He didn't tell her to open it. He just said, "You should read it tonight," and took my hand and led me to the kitchen. The formal dining room stayed golden and empty under the chandelier, the chair that had been overturned now upright again, the envelope sitting exactly in the middle of the polished table like a centerpiece no one wanted.
She didn't touch it for a long time. I could hear her chair creak when she finally pulled it out. From the kitchen doorway I watched her slit the envelope with her thumbnail. She read standing up, her long reddish-brown hair falling forward. Her mouth moved a little as she read the legal language. Then she folded the paper very carefully, put it back in the envelope, and set it down again.
When she came into the kitchen, she was composed. Her blue eyes were wet but her voice was even.
"David," she said to Dad, "can we talk alone? Lily, honey, would you give us a minute?"
Dad looked at me. I nodded and went to the back hallway where the wainscoting caught the warm light. I sat on the bottom step and hugged my knees. I could still hear them.
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," she said. Her voice was soft, reasonable. "You know your mother loved you. She wouldn't want this house turned into a courtroom over a dinner. Lily and I had a moment. She was tired. She slipped getting down from the chair. I crouched to help her."
"It's on camera," Dad said quietly.
She paused. "That camera hasn't worked in months. The old owners had it disconnected."
"We don't know that," Dad said. "Mr. Patel said we can ask the security company to pull the file. If it recorded, we'll see."
That was the change in her face I remembered from the dining room — not anger, but a quick calculation. She reached for his arm. Her fingers were light on his dark navy jacket.
"I've made this house a home for you both," she said. "I planned that dinner. I bought her dress. I'm asking you not to let a piece of paper make me a stranger here."
Dad didn't pull away, but he didn't lean in either. His silver wristwatch caught the kitchen light when he checked the time.
"We'll get the footage tomorrow," he said. "If it shows what you say, then we move on. If it doesn't, we talk about what happens next."
She nodded like that was fair, but her jaw was tight. When she walked past me in the hallway, she brushed my light brown hair back like she used to when she was being kind. Her hand was cold.
"Lily, I hope you know I care about you," she whispered.
I didn't answer. I could hear my own breathing.
Later, after she went upstairs, Dad sat beside me on the step. He took the ornate silver key from his jacket pocket, just to check it was still there, then zipped it away again.
"Mr. Patel called the security company," he told me. "Man coming at nine in the morning to pull the camera drive. We'll watch it together."
I asked, "What if she is right and it didn't record?"
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"Then we still have the document," he said. "But I need to see it for myself. For you."
Upstairs, a door closed. The house was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the faint tick of the chandelier cooling in the dining room. The bright double entry doors were locked for the night, and at the far end of the dim hallway, the dark double doors stayed locked too. For the first time, the house didn't feel like one house.
