Chapter 2: The Envelope Dad Wasn't Supposed to Find
Dad held the envelope between his fingers, studying the handwriting.
I had seen that handwriting before.
Not on a birthday card or a shopping list, but on the stack of official-looking papers Brielle had once hidden beneath her mattress when we were teenagers.
Our mother had been the one to teach us how to recognize it.
Mom had been gone for three years.
Yet there it was, unmistakable on the front of that envelope.
Her handwriting.
Dad turned it over again.
“Where did you get this, Brielle?””
My sister's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
A breeze swept across the patio, carrying the acrid smell of burning leather from the fire pit. The designer handbag that had cost her more than some people earned in a month was collapsing into a blackened heap.
Brielle didn't even look at it anymore.
“It's private,” she finally said.
Dad's eyebrows lifted.
“Private?””
“Yes.””
“You put something addressed in your mother's handwriting inside a handbag you carry everywhere, and now you're telling me it's private?””
“It's not what you think.””
“Then tell me what it is.””
She glanced at me.
That look sent a chill through my chest.
It wasn't the familiar glare she gave me when I borrowed her hairbrush or accidentally wore one of her sweaters. It was sharper than that.
It was a warning.
“Nia doesn't need to be involved,” Brielle said.
I slowly stood, wiping my cheeks with the backs of my hands.
“I'm already involved. You just burned my graduation dress in front of me.””
“Can you stop making everything about yourself?””
Dad stepped between us.
“Enough.””
One word.
That was all it took to silence her.
He studied the envelope again, then slid a finger beneath its sealed flap.
Brielle grabbed his wrist.
“Don't!””
Dad looked at her hand.
Then at her face.
“Take your hand off me.””
She released him immediately.
For a moment, none of us moved.
Through the glass doors, the graduation decorations looked painfully cheerful. A bowl of strawberries sat on the kitchen island beside a cake decorated with tiny blue icing flowers. Dad had ordered it the night before because he knew strawberries were my favorite.
I had imagined this morning so many times.
Dad taking pictures. My friends arriving. Brielle pretending not to care before eventually complaining that my graduation celebration was getting more attention than her last birthday.
I had never imagined kneeling beside a fire pit while my sister's handbag burned and a letter from our dead mother threatened to tear our family apart.
Dad slipped the envelope into his pocket.
Brielle exhaled so sharply that her shoulders dropped.
I noticed.
So did Dad.
He reached into his pocket and brought the envelope out again.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
Brielle's eyes widened.
“What?””
“You looked relieved when I put it away.””
“Because I thought you were going to embarrass everyone by opening Mom's personal mail.””
“Your mother's been gone for three years. This envelope was hidden in your handbag. You knew exactly what it was.””
Brielle's jaw tightened.
“You always do this.””
“Do what?””
“Act like Nia is innocent and I'm the problem.””
Dad stared at her.
“Your sister's dress is burning in my backyard.””
“She can buy another one!””
“With what money?””
Brielle shrugged.
“She has a job, doesn't she?””
I felt the words strike harder than I expected.
Dad had paid for Brielle's first car, her college apartment, and the expensive handbag she had just lost. I had paid for my own dress with money earned stocking shelves and cleaning up spilled soda at the grocery store.
Brielle knew that.
She had known it when she watched me count my savings on my bedroom floor.
She had known it when I showed her the dress.
And she'd known it when she carried it outside.
Dad's voice dropped.
“Did you burn that dress because you were angry, or because you wanted to hurt your sister?””
Brielle's eyes filled with tears so suddenly that I almost believed them.
“You never ask why I'm angry,” she whispered.
“I'm asking now.””
She shook her head.
“Forget it.””
“No.””
“You wouldn't understand.””
“Try me.””
Brielle glanced toward the house, then toward the envelope in his hand.
“Mom understood.””
The words stopped Dad cold.
I watched his face change.
“What did you say?””
Brielle pressed her lips together.
For the first time, I saw fear compete with anger in her expression.
“Nothing.””
“No. You brought your mother into this. Explain.””
She swallowed.
“Mom knew what you were like.””
Dad's fingers tightened around the envelope.
“And what exactly was I like?””
Brielle looked directly at him.
“Ask yourself why she left certain things to me instead of you.””
My heart began pounding.
Mom had died after a sudden medical emergency, leaving behind a house full of photographs, recipes written on yellow notepads, and countless unanswered questions.
Dad had handled the paperwork.
He'd told us everything had been settled.
There had been no secret inheritance, no hidden family fortune, no mysterious collection of belongings that needed to be fought over.
At least, that was what I had believed.
I turned toward my sister.
“What things?””
Brielle's eyes flickered toward me.
“You really don't know?””
“Know what?””
Dad stepped forward.
“Brielle, stop playing games.””
She laughed bitterly.
“I'm not playing games. I'm tired of being the only person in this family who remembers what Mom wanted.””
I looked at the envelope.
“Then tell us.””
She shook her head.
“Not like this.””
“Like what?”” I demanded.
“With my dress burning? With you screaming because Dad found a letter?””
Her face hardened again.
“You have no idea what I've had to do to keep this family together.””
Dad stared at her.
“Keep this family together?””
She turned away.
Then she said something so quietly that I almost missed it.
“I'm the one who's been paying for it.””
Dad went still.
I stopped breathing.
Because our father had always told us that he paid every household bill himself. He managed his business, maintained the house, and covered our expenses. Brielle had never mentioned helping him with anything beyond buying groceries once in a while.
“What have you been paying for?”” Dad asked.
She didn't answer.
He took the envelope from his pocket and held it up between them.
“Is this connected to the money?””
Brielle's eyes locked on the seal.
Then, with trembling fingers, she reached into the pocket of her cream-colored trousers.
She pulled out a small silver key.
Dad recognized it immediately.
His face lost every trace of anger.
“Where did you get that key?””
Brielle looked toward the house.
“From Mom's desk.””
Dad's voice became almost inaudible.
“The desk I was told had been emptied?””
May you like
She closed her fist around the key.
And suddenly, the envelope wasn't the only thing my sister had been hiding.
