Chapter 6 - Vanessa’s Version
Vanessa waited until Renee left.
Then she entered Amara’s bedroom without knocking.
“Sit down.”
Amara remained at her desk.
“I’m sitting.”
Vanessa closed the door.
“The story Renee told you is incomplete.”
“Okay.”
“My mother was cruel to me.”
Amara said nothing.
Vanessa seemed irritated by the absence of immediate sympathy.
“She competed with me constantly. Clothes. Weight. Men noticing us. Everything.”
“That sounds horrible.”
“It was.”
“So why did you—”
“Because what happened in that boutique was not the same.”
Amara stared at her.
Vanessa continued.
“I made a joke. You turned it into some traumatic event because Renee filled your head with nonsense.”
“You bought the same dress.”
“I liked the dress.”
“You said you wore it better.”
“I was teasing.”
“You said boys might think we were sisters.”
Vanessa hesitated.
Only slightly.
Amara noticed.
“That’s what Loretta said, isn’t it?”
Vanessa looked away.
Amara’s throat tightened.
“You didn’t accidentally repeat her.”
“I barely remembered that.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Vanessa’s head snapped back.
“That is your choice.”
“No. You keep saying that whenever you don’t want to answer.”
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“You want answers? Fine.”
She sat on the edge of the bed.
“My mother made me feel ugly. Old before my time. Invisible whenever she entered a room. I promised myself I would never let age turn me bitter.”
Amara frowned.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Everything.”
Vanessa’s voice sharpened.
“I worked hard not to disappear.”
There it was.
Not beauty.
Not fashion.
Fear.
“You think I don’t notice people looking through women once they hit forty?” Vanessa said. “You think I don’t know what happens?”
Amara’s anger softened for one second.
Then Vanessa added, “And suddenly I have a daughter who walks into rooms and everybody looks at her.”
The softness vanished.
Amara stared.
Vanessa realized too late what she had admitted.
“You resent me.”
“Don’t twist my words.”
“You resent people looking at me.”
“I said it’s an adjustment.”
“I’m your daughter.”
“I know exactly who you are.”
“Then why does me being noticed feel like something being taken from you?”
Vanessa stood.
“This conversation is over.”
“No.”
Amara stood too.
“What happened to Grandma’s money?”
Vanessa froze.
The pivot was deliberate.
Amara wanted to see how quickly her mother recovered.
Not quickly enough.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I found the UTMA statements.”
Silence.
“You went through private financial documents?”
“They had my name on them.”
“You had no permission.”
“They’re about my money.”
Vanessa’s expression shifted from anger to control.
“I have spent thousands raising you.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I bought your laptop.”
“You said you paid for that.”
“I did.”
“With Grandma’s money?”
Vanessa looked away.
“Some of it.”
“My braces?”
“Possibly.”
“Summer program?”
“Yes.”
Amara nodded slowly.
“Okay. Show me the transaction history.”
Vanessa stared.
“What?”
“If it was all spent on me, show me.”
“You are a child.”
“I’m the child whose account it is.”
Vanessa moved toward the door.
“We are not discussing bank records because your little friend and my sister have convinced you I’m stealing from you.”
“I didn’t say stealing.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She opened the door.
Amara said quietly, “Where’s Grandma’s note?”
Vanessa stopped.
“What note?”
“The lavender one.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You took it.”
Vanessa turned around.
Her face was perfectly composed.
“You should be very careful accusing people of things you cannot prove.”
Amara felt cold.
Vanessa left.
Ten minutes later, Amara heard the shredder running in the home office.
She walked into the hallway.
The office door was locked.
The shredder ran for nearly a full minute.
Amara took out her phone and recorded the sound.
She didn’t know whether it would ever matter.
But she remembered David Rosen’s word.
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Preserve.
So she did.
