“I did not impersonate anyone.”
I tapped the note in the activity log.
“The caller identified herself as my mother.”
Renata’s mouth opened, then closed.
My father finally spoke.
“Renata.”
She turned toward him.
There was warning in his voice now, but it came so late that it almost made me angrier than his silence.
“Don’t,” she said.
He looked at the folder in front of me.
“There’s more.”
I didn’t want more.
I also knew I had to see it.
I turned the page.
Inside the folder were printed emails between my father and Renata.
Most were ordinary household messages.
Bills.
Insurance.
A note about Mara’s dentist appointment.
Then I found one from Renata sent five weeks earlier.
I need Reyna’s Weston information if I’m going to see what options we have.
She doesn’t need to know yet.
She gets defensive whenever Mara is involved.
My father’s response came twelve minutes later.
I’ll leave the folder in my desk.
Key is in the blue kitchen drawer.
Please don’t create a problem with her scholarship.
Renata’s reply:
I’m trying to prevent one.
I read the exchange twice.
My father hadn’t known exactly what she planned to do.
But he had known enough to tell her not to create a problem.
And he’d given her the key anyway.
“Why?” I asked him.
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I thought she wanted to see whether Mara qualified for something similar.”
“Then why did you tell her not to create a problem with my scholarship?”
He looked at me.
For the first time that night, he didn’t look away.
“Because I knew she was angry about it.”
That hurt more than Renata’s speech.
Renata had never pretended to be fair when she felt threatened.
My father had spent years pretending not to notice.
“You knew she resented me for getting it.”
“Yes.”
“And you gave her the folder.”
“Yes.”
“And when she announced in front of everyone that she’d taken it from me, you sat there.”
His voice broke.
“Yes.”
Renata scoffed.
“Oh, please.
Don’t turn this into some confession scene.
Nothing happened.
The scholarship is still hers.
Everyone can calm down.”
