Chapter 2: The Voice in the Kitchen
My father didn't speak for almost a full minute.
He stood beside the kitchen island, one hand resting on the marble, staring at the smart speaker as though it had just revealed something impossible.
Vanessa reached for him.
“Daniel, listen to me.””
He stepped away.
“Don't.””
Her hand remained suspended in the air.
I had never seen that happen before.
Vanessa was always the person who touched his shoulder when he was upset. She kissed his cheek before work. She straightened his collar before family dinners.
She knew exactly how to make herself look like the one person who understood him.
But now my father was looking at her differently.
“What did you mean?”” he asked.
Vanessa shook her head.
“You're taking a few words out of context.””
“Then give me the context.””
“It was a private conversation.””
“With whom?””
She hesitated.
“With myself.””
Grandma Evelyn gave a quiet, humorless laugh.
“People usually don't whisper secrets to themselves while standing in an empty kitchen.””
Vanessa turned toward her.
“This is none of your business.””
“It's my granddaughter's home too.””
“Not anymore, apparently.””
My father looked up sharply.
“What does that mean?””
Vanessa blinked.
“I didn't mean—”
“You just told my daughter to leave. I didn't even know you were planning to send her away permanently.””
“I never said permanently.””
“You said once Maya leaves.””
Vanessa pressed her lips together.
I stood near the hallway, clutching the sleeves of my sweater.
I wanted to believe my father would finally see what I had seen for years.
But I was also afraid.
Because Vanessa had a way of surviving every accusation.
She could turn a simple question into a family argument, a family argument into a misunderstanding, and a misunderstanding into proof that I was unstable.
“Dad,” I said quietly.
He turned.
“Come here, sweetheart.””
I didn't move immediately.
The word sweetheart sounded strange coming from him after what had happened.
Still, I walked toward the island.
He pulled out a chair.
“Sit down.””
I sat.
My eyes remained on the notebook.
The wine had soaked through several pages. A few drops had fallen onto the marble.
Grandma noticed me staring.
“Don't worry about the book right now, sweetheart.””
“But the writing…”
“I know.””
She placed her hand over mine.
“Some things can still be saved.””
Vanessa made an impatient noise.
“Can we stop acting like I'm on trial? It was an accident. Maya spilled the wine, and now everyone is making this into some ridiculous conspiracy.””
My father turned toward her.
“You just said the recording was taken out of context. We haven't even heard the whole thing.””
“Because I don't know what the device recorded!””
Grandma lifted her phone.
“Then we'll listen.””
She tapped the screen.
The smart speaker chimed again.
A moment of static filled the kitchen.
Then Vanessa's voice returned.
“Once Maya leaves, Daniel will finally stop feeling guilty every time he looks at me.””
My father went rigid.
Vanessa's face drained of color.
The recording continued.
“I can't keep competing with a dead woman. Every room in this house still belongs to her. Her pictures, her books, her daughter's endless questions…”
There was a pause.
Then Vanessa laughed softly.
“I thought marrying him would mean starting a new life. Instead, I married into a museum.””
My stomach twisted.
My father looked down at the floor.
Grandma's fingers tightened around her phone.
Then the recording became muffled.
A metallic sound followed, like someone placing a glass on the counter.
Vanessa's voice returned.
“And that notebook is the last thing keeping Maya attached to all of it. Once it's gone, she'll have nothing left to use against me.””
The recording ended with a soft click.
Nobody spoke.
I could hear the refrigerator humming.
A car passed outside.
Somewhere upstairs, the old floorboards creaked as the heating system came on.
My father finally looked at Vanessa.
“You said you wanted to help Maya.””
“I do.””
“You said you understood her grief.””
“I did. I still do.””
“Then why would you say that?””
Vanessa's eyes filled with tears.
It happened so quickly that I almost admired the precision.
She lowered her head.
“Because I was frustrated.””
My father shook his head.
“Frustrated?””
“Yes, Daniel. Frustrated! I spend every day trying to build a life with you, and every time I make a decision, Maya acts like I'm trying to replace her mother.””
I stared at her.
“You told me my mom's things needed to go into storage.””
Vanessa turned.
“Not now, Maya.””
“You said her pictures made the house depressing.””
“I was trying to make the house feel welcoming.””
“You threw away her birthday cards.””
“They were old.””
“You said I was too old to sleep with her blanket.””
Vanessa's voice sharpened.
“Because you're sixteen, not six!””
My father raised his hand.
“Enough.””
But Vanessa had already revealed the anger underneath her performance.
She looked at him again.
“Daniel, I have sacrificed so much for this family. I gave up my apartment. I changed my work schedule.
I took care of your daughter when you were traveling. And this is how you repay me?””
He rubbed his face.
“That's not what we're discussing.””
“It's exactly what we're discussing.””
Grandma moved toward the counter.
“Then perhaps we should discuss the notebook.””
Vanessa looked at her.
“What about it?””
Grandma examined the wineglass.
“Where did this come from?””
“From the cabinet.””
“Who poured it?””
Vanessa folded her arms.
“I already explained that Maya spilled it.””
Grandma nodded slowly.
“Interesting.””
“What is?””
Grandma pointed to the glass.
“Your wineglass is on the other side of the island. The notebook was sitting near the fruit bowl. The wine trail runs from the edge of the counter toward the notebook, not the other way around.””
Vanessa stared at her.
I looked down.
Grandma was right.
There was a thin red line leading from the wineglass toward the notebook.
The notebook itself had been placed beneath the stream.
It hadn't been accidentally knocked over.
It had been soaked.
My father leaned closer.
“Mom?””
Grandma looked at him.
“I'm not making an accusation. I'm asking questions.””
Vanessa grabbed the wineglass.
“That's enough. I'm not going to stand here while everyone treats me like a criminal.””
“Put the glass down,” my father said.
She froze.
He had never spoken to her that way before.
Slowly, she placed it back on the counter.
Then she looked at me.
“Are you happy now?””
I didn't answer.
“You've always wanted your father to yourself. I suppose you finally got what you wanted.””
“Vanessa,” my father warned.
She ignored him.
“Your mother has been dead for four years, Maya. Four years. When are you going to stop using her to punish everybody around you?””
The kitchen seemed to shrink.
I pushed my chair backward.
“I'm not using her.””
“Then why can't you accept that things change?””
“Because she was my mother!””
My voice broke.
I tried to hold it together, but tears had already begun sliding down my cheeks.
“She didn't get to watch me graduate. She didn't get to see my first school dance. She didn't get to hear me play piano after I stopped making mistakes. And now the only thing I have left that she actually wrote is covered in wine.””
My father looked at me.
His face changed.
For a second, I saw the man who used to sit beside my bed after nightmares.
Then he reached for my hand.
“Maya…”
I pulled away.
“Don't.””
His fingers stopped.
I hadn't meant to hurt him.
But I was tired of being the one who had to understand everyone else.
Grandma gently lifted the notebook.
“We need to let the pages dry.””
Vanessa laughed under her breath.
“It's ruined anyway.””
Grandma looked at her.
“No. Not necessarily.””
She carried the notebook toward the dining room, where the light was better.
My father followed.
I stayed behind.
Vanessa remained near the island, watching the speaker.
I noticed her eyes move toward the small screen on the device.
Then she glanced at my father.
Then at the phone in Grandma's hand.
She was calculating something.
I knew that look.
“Why did you do it?”” I asked.
She didn't turn around.
“Do what?””
“The notebook.””
Vanessa slowly faced me.
For a moment, the kitchen was silent.
Then she stepped closer.
“You should be careful about what you accuse people of.””
“I saw you smiling.””
Her eyebrows lifted.
“What?””
“When Dad told me to leave. You smiled.””
She stared at me.
Then her expression softened into something almost sympathetic.
“Oh, Maya.””
She reached toward my shoulder.
I stepped back.
“You're not a child anymore. You need to understand that your father deserves happiness.””
“I never said he didn't.””
“Then stop standing between us.””
“I didn't put the wine on Mom's notebook.””
Vanessa's eyes hardened.
“Maybe you didn't.””
I stopped breathing.
She looked toward the dining room to make sure nobody was listening.
Then she lowered her voice.
“But sometimes, sweetheart, the truth isn't the only thing that matters. It's who your father believes.””
A chill traveled down my arms.
Before I could respond, Grandma called from the dining room.
“Maya? Come here, darling.””
Vanessa immediately stepped away.
I walked toward Grandma.
She had placed the notebook on a clean white towel. Several pages were already beginning to curl.
My father stood beside her, staring at the handwriting.
“Mom,” he whispered, “I haven't seen this in years.””
Grandma turned one page carefully.
Then another.
Suddenly she stopped.
Her face became very still.
“What is it?”” my father asked.
Grandma ran her finger along the bottom of the page.
There was a small handwritten note beneath the final paragraph.
It was barely visible through the wine stain.
But I recognized the handwriting.
My mother's.
Grandma leaned closer.
Then she looked at my father.
“Daniel, I think you need to read this.””
He bent over the notebook.
His eyes moved across the sentence.
Once.
Twice.
Then his face went pale.
“What?”” I whispered.
He didn't answer.
I looked at the page.
The ink was faded, but I could make out several words.
If anything happens to me, Daniel must know about…
The rest had been blurred by the wine.
Grandma turned the page.
A small folded sheet slipped out and landed on the table.
It was sealed inside a transparent plastic sleeve.
My father picked it up.
The paper had a date written on the front.
Four days before my mother died.
And beneath the date was a name.
Not mine.
Not my father's.
May you like
Vanessa.
My stepmother's name.
