Chapter 1: The Wine-Stained Notebook
“Look what she did to your mother’s book!””
My stepmother’s voice sliced through the kitchen before I even understood what I was looking at.
A pool of red wine spread across the marble island, soaking into the yellowed pages of an old notebook. The leather cover was dark with liquid, and several handwritten lines had blurred into pink streaks.
My mother’s handwriting.
The last handwriting she had ever left behind.
I stood frozen beside the refrigerator, my mint-green sweater hanging loosely around my wrists. My fingers were cold. My heart was pounding so hard that I could hear it in my ears.
Across the island, Vanessa held the notebook between two fingers as though it were something disgusting.
She wore her usual burgundy-red shirt, her dark hair perfectly arranged, and a thin gold bracelet that caught the kitchen lights whenever she moved.
Her expression was one of theatrical disappointment.
But her eyes were watching my father.
Not me.
My father, Daniel, had been standing near the sink with his coffee. He put the mug down slowly.
“What happened?””
Vanessa lifted the notebook higher.
“What happened? Maya poured wine all over your mother's book!””
I shook my head.
“Dad, I didn't touch it.””
Vanessa let out a sharp breath.
“Oh, Maya. Please don't start.””
“I didn't!””
My voice cracked.
I looked at the notebook again. The wine had reached the middle pages, where my mother had written something in blue ink. I recognized the slanted letters immediately.
She always made her capital M too large.
When I was little, she used to write my name on my lunch bags in that exact handwriting.
Maya.
Three letters that had once made me feel like somebody in the world was always waiting for me.
Now those letters were disappearing beneath red wine.
“Please,” I whispered.
“Put it down.””
Vanessa tilted her head.
“Excuse me?””
“That's Mom's notebook.””
“I know exactly what it is.””
“Then stop holding it like that.””
My father stepped away from the sink.
“Maya.””
I turned toward him.
“Dad, I swear I didn't do anything.””
He glanced at the wine, then at Vanessa.
His jaw tightened.
“Your stepmother says she found you near the island.””
“I came downstairs because I heard something fall.””
Vanessa immediately interrupted.
“She was standing right here when I walked in. The glass was beside her. The notebook was underneath it.””
“That doesn't mean I spilled it!””
Vanessa placed her free hand against her chest.
“I can't believe you're doing this.””
She sounded wounded.
It was a performance she had perfected during the three years she had lived in our house.
Whenever something went wrong, she never shouted first. She sighed. She lowered her eyes. She waited until my father felt guilty for questioning her.
Then she made sure I looked like the difficult one.
My grandmother, Evelyn, sat quietly at the breakfast table.
Her silver hair was pinned neatly behind her ears. She wore a purple sweater and held a cup of tea between both hands.
She had not said a word.
That was unusual.
Grandma noticed everything.
She had been visiting us for two weeks, ever since my father's doctor had advised him to take a few days off after a minor health scare. She had spent most mornings in the kitchen, reading the newspaper and watching the world through her glasses.
Now she was watching Vanessa.
Not the notebook.
Vanessa.
“Daniel,” Vanessa said softly, “I don't want to make this worse, but somebody needs to teach this girl that actions have consequences.””
My father rubbed his forehead.
“Enough.””
He looked at me.
“Go pack your things.””
For a moment, I genuinely thought I had misunderstood him.
“What?””
“Go upstairs. Pack your things.””
My throat tightened.
“Dad, where am I supposed to go?””
“Your aunt's house. We'll discuss the rest later.””
“But I didn't do it.””
“Maya, I'm not arguing about this.””
I looked at Vanessa.
She was holding the notebook against her burgundy shirt now. Her fingers covered the bottom corner of the leather cover.
And she was smiling.
Not openly.
Just enough for me to see.
“Dad,” I said, stepping closer, “that was Mom's last handwriting.””
His expression flickered.
Only for a second.
Then Vanessa spoke again.
“Daniel, please don't let her turn this into another emotional scene. Your wife has been gone for years. We cannot keep living like every little thing has to revolve around her.””
The words landed harder than a slap.
My mother had been dead for four years.
I was twelve when she died.
I was sixteen now, old enough to remember every hospital hallway, every whispered conversation, and the last time she had held my hand.
I remembered the notebook too.
It had been beside her bed during her final months.
Sometimes she wrote in it when speaking became too tiring.
After she died, Dad had kept it in the locked drawer of his bedroom desk. He rarely opened it.
Vanessa had insisted that it was unhealthy for us to keep living in the past.
But I had never stopped missing my mother.
And I had never stopped wondering what she had written on the final pages.
“Don't talk about her like that,” I whispered.
Vanessa's face hardened.
“I beg your pardon?””
“You heard me.””
“Maya,” my father warned.
Vanessa placed the notebook on the counter.
“Daniel, see? This is exactly what I've been dealing with. She thinks she can speak to me however she wants because she's still grieving.””
My father pointed toward the hallway.
“Go. Now.””
I stared at him.
He had promised my mother he would always protect me.
I remembered him saying it beside her hospital bed, his face wet with tears.
He had squeezed my mother's hand and whispered, “I promise. She'll never be alone.””
Now he was sending me away because of a glass of wine.
I turned without another word.
As I walked toward the hallway, I heard the soft scrape of a chair.
Grandma Evelyn had stood up.
“Daniel,” she said calmly.
My father exhaled.
“Mom, please. Not now.””
“I haven't said anything yet.””
“Then let me handle this.””
Grandma's gaze moved to the notebook.
“That's an interesting thing to say when you haven't even asked what happened.””
Vanessa gave a nervous laugh.
“Evelyn, I understand you're protective of Maya, but this is a family matter.””
Grandma looked at her.
“I'm aware.””
She walked slowly toward the island.
Her eyes examined the wineglass, the wet pages, and the small puddle beneath the notebook.
Then she glanced at the silver smart speaker sitting beside the fruit bowl.
It was a small device my father had installed months earlier.
We used it for music, weather updates, and reminders.
Grandma's expression changed.
Barely.
But I noticed.
She placed one hand near the device.
“Wait,” she said.
My father frowned.
“What is it?””
Grandma looked directly at Vanessa.
“That speaker was recording.””
Vanessa went completely still.
For the first time that morning, her perfectly arranged expression disappeared.
“What?””
Grandma didn't move.
“I said it was recording.””
Vanessa suddenly stepped away from the island.
“That's ridiculous.””
Grandma's voice remained gentle.
“Is it?””
The speaker's little light ring was dark.
My father looked from Grandma to the device.
“I don't understand.””
Grandma pressed a button on her phone.
“Daniel, you installed the recording feature yourself. You told me it could save certain voice commands and household interactions.””
Vanessa shook her head.
“No. That's not possible.””
I stood halfway down the hallway.
My backpack was still upstairs.
I didn't care about it anymore.
Something about Vanessa's face made my stomach tighten.
She wasn't angry now.
She was frightened.
Grandma leaned closer to the speaker.
“Let's see what it heard.””
Vanessa lunged across the kitchen.
“Don't play it!””
My father caught her arm before she reached the device.
He didn't grab her roughly. He simply held her back.
His eyes narrowed.
“Why?””
Vanessa opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Then she whispered something that made the entire kitchen go silent.
“Because you'll hear me—”
A soft chime interrupted her.
The speaker's light ring turned blue.
And a woman's voice emerged from the device.
Vanessa's voice.
“Once Maya leaves...””
Nobody moved.
My father slowly released Vanessa's arm.
Grandma's eyes remained on the glowing speaker.
And I watched my stepmother's face turn white.
The recording continued, but the next words were faint, muffled, and unfinished.
Then the speaker went silent.
My father stared at Vanessa.
“What were you going to say?””
She looked at him.
Her lips trembled.
“That isn't what it sounds like.””
Grandma folded her arms.
“Then perhaps you should explain what it does sound like.””
Vanessa looked toward me.
For one brief second, the expression on her face was so cold that I barely recognized the woman who had spent years pretending to care about me.
Then she looked back at my father.
“Daniel, you need to turn that thing off.””
He didn't move.
“Why?””
She swallowed.
“Because there's more.””
May you like
The blue ring faded.
And for the first time in three years, my father looked at his wife as though he didn't know who she was.
