Chapter 7: The Woman Who Knew My Mother
I didn’t open the gate.
Karen stood outside with a woman beside her.
The woman looked to be in her sixties.
Gray hair.
Sharp eyes.
A face that carried the kind of confidence only comes from knowing secrets.
Karen waved at the camera.
“Emma, please.””
I didn’t answer.
The older woman looked directly into the camera.
And somehow, I knew she knew I was watching.
“Your mother would have wanted you to hear this.””
My heart stopped.
I opened the speaker.
“Who are you?””
The woman stepped closer.
“My name is Patricia Collins.””
The name meant nothing.
But the way Karen looked at her did.
Like she was afraid.
“Why are you here?””
Patricia glanced at Karen.
Then back at the camera.
“Because your mother trusted me.””
I almost laughed.
“Everyone suddenly trusted my mother.””
Karen’s face tightened.
“This isn’t a game.””
“No. It’s not.””
I looked at her.
“You came to my house after trying to take mine.””
Her expression hardened.
“You don’t understand.””
“I understand enough.””
Patricia spoke calmly.
“Emma, your mother left something with me.””
I froze.
“What?””
“A journal.””
The word hit me.
My mother kept journals.
I knew that.
She wrote everything down.
Every thought.
Every memory.
Every fear.
“Where is it?””
Patricia looked at Karen.
Then said:
“I can’t give it to you while she is here.””
Karen immediately stepped forward.
“What?””
Patricia ignored her.
“She wasn’t supposed to know about it.””
My eyes narrowed.
“How did she find out?””
Nobody answered.
Then Karen said:
“Because I was your mother’s friend.””
I stared at her.
A bitter laugh escaped.
“My mother hated you.””
Karen’s face changed.
“You don’t know that.””
“I know she removed your access to her accounts before she died.””
Silence.
Karen looked at me.
“How did you know?””
I smiled slightly.
“Because my mother planned ahead.””
That was the first time Karen looked afraid.
Patricia noticed too.
“Emma, please.””
I opened the gate.
Not because I trusted them.
Because I wanted answers.
They entered my living room.
Patricia sat down.
Karen remained standing.
She looked around my home.
The home my mother had protected.
“You really think this place belongs to you?””
I looked at her.
“It does.””
She smiled coldly.
“You have no idea what you inherited.””
“No.””
I looked at Patricia.
“But I’m about to.””
Patricia opened her bag.
She removed a small black journal.
My breath caught.
I recognized it instantly.
The cover.
The worn edges.
My mother’s handwriting.
I reached for it.
But Patricia held it back.
“Before you read this, you need to understand something.””
“What?””
“Your mother knew she was being watched.””
The room became silent.
“By who?””
Patricia looked at Karen.
Karen immediately shook her head.
“This is ridiculous.””
Patricia continued.
“She knew someone close to her was taking things.””
I looked at Karen.
“Money?””
“Information.””
I frowned.
“What does that mean?””
Patricia opened the journal.
“She wrote about conversations. Meetings. Things she noticed.””
“Why didn’t she go to the police?””
Patricia looked sad.
“Because she didn’t know who she could trust.””
That sentence hurt.
Because my mother had always been the strongest person I knew.
And even she had been afraid.
I opened the journal.
The first pages were normal.
Recipes.
Notes.
Memories.
Then I found the date.
Three months before her death.
The handwriting changed.
The letters were sharper.
More rushed.
I read:
“I finally confirmed it. Someone inside the family has been moving money.””
My heart pounded.
I turned the page.
“My biggest fear is not losing what I built.””
Another page.
“It is Emma being left alone with people who only see her as an opportunity.””
I stopped.
My eyes burned.
My mother had known.
She knew exactly what kind of world I would grow up in.
Then I reached the final entry.
The one that made my hands shake.
“I know who it is.””
I stopped breathing.
The next sentence was underlined.
“If anything happens to me, Emma must never trust…”
The page ended.
I turned it.
Nothing.
The next page had been ripped out.
I looked at Patricia.
“Where is the missing page?””
She looked uncomfortable.
“I don’t know.””
Karen suddenly spoke.
“Maybe because it wasn’t important.””
I turned toward her.
“You don’t get to decide that.””
Her face hardened.
“You think your mother was perfect?””
“No.””
I stepped closer.
“But I know she loved me.””
Karen looked away.
For a moment, she looked almost defeated.
Then her phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Her expression changed.
Fear.
Real fear.
She answered.
“Hello?””
Nobody spoke.
Then she handed the phone to Patricia.
Patricia listened.
And her face turned pale.
“What happened?”” I asked.
She slowly lowered the phone.
Then she looked at me.
“Emma…”
“What?””
Her voice was barely audible.
“The missing page.””
I stared.
“What about it?””
Patricia swallowed.
“It was never missing.””
My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?””
She looked toward Karen.
May you like
Then whispered:
“Your stepmother has had it all along.””