Chapter 3: The Email That Wasn't Mine
My hands started shaking so badly that I almost dropped my phone.
The graduation crowd was still celebrating around me. Families were hugging. Cameras were flashing. Somebody nearby was laughing so loudly it carried across the courtyard.
But all I could hear was my own heartbeat.
Your request to withdraw from enrollment and decline scholarship funding has been received.
I read the sentence again.
Then again.
Like the words might rearrange themselves into something less terrifying.
They didn’t.
I looked at the email address.
It looked official.
It looked real.
But I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
I did not send it.
“Aaliyah?””
I looked up.
Dad was standing beside me, holding my graduation program in one hand. He had that proud smile on his face, the one I had spent years trying to see.
Then he noticed mine disappear.
“What happened?””
I handed him my phone.
He read the email.
His expression changed.
Not confusion.
Not disbelief.
Fear.
“Baby,” he said quietly, “did you do this?””
The question hurt.
Not because he accused me.
Because I understood why he asked.
He was trying to make sense of something impossible.
“No,” I said.
“I would never do this.””
“I know.””
He answered too quickly.
That was when I knew something had shifted between us.
Before today, maybe he would have tried to find an explanation that made everyone comfortable.
But after seeing my dress destroyed, after finally admitting what had been happening under his roof, he wasn’t looking for peace anymore.
He was looking for the truth.
“Come on,” he said.
“We’re going home.””
The ride back was quiet.
Not the uncomfortable silence from before.
A different kind.
A silence filled with questions.
Who had access to my account?
Who knew my password?
Who hated me enough to try to erase everything I had worked for?
When we got home, Dad went straight to his office.
I followed him.
“I want to check everything,” he said.
I sat beside him while he opened my university portal.
The withdrawal request was there.
Waiting.
It had been submitted from my account.
The scholarship section had been changed.
My enrollment status was marked as pending cancellation.
I felt sick.
“This can’t just happen,” I whispered.
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“Someone knew your login.””
I stared at the screen.
Then something hit me.
“My password.””
“What about it?””
I swallowed.
“I changed it last year.””
“To what?””
I hesitated.
Because suddenly it felt embarrassing.
“I used Mom’s name and my birthday.””
Dad looked at me.
“Why?””
“Because I thought nobody would guess it.””
The room went still.
Nobody.
But someone had.
My mother’s name.
A detail that only family should have known.
A detail Mia had grown up hearing.
A detail Vanessa had heard me say hundreds of times.
Dad leaned back slowly.
“Your mother’s letters.””
I looked at him.
“What?””
“Your password. You always kept her close. Her letters, her necklace, everything.””
His voice became quieter.
“Who knew how important those things were to you?””
I didn’t answer.
Because I already knew.
Mia.
Vanessa.
People who had watched me protect those memories.
People who had watched me keep my mother alive through every little thing she left behind.
I stood up.
“I need to check my room.””
Dad followed.
My bedroom looked normal.
Almost too normal.
The blue dress was still on the floor where we had left it.
The necklace box was on my nightstand.
But something felt wrong.
I walked toward my closet.
My old wooden box was missing.
My mother’s box.
The one she had given me when I was little.
My stomach dropped.
“Dad.””
He turned.
“What?””
“The box.””
“What box?””
“My mom’s letters.””
His face changed.
“What?””
I opened every drawer.
Checked under the bed.
Looked inside the closet.
Nothing.
The box was gone.
I felt tears burning my eyes.
“No.””
Dad came closer.
“Aaliyah.””
“No, no, no.””
Those letters were more than paper.
They were pieces of her voice.
After my mother died, those letters were how I survived.
She had written them before she got sick. Little notes for birthdays, graduations, hard days.
She had planned ahead because she knew she wouldn’t always be there.
And now they were gone.
Dad held my shoulders.
“We’ll find them.””
I shook my head.
“You don’t understand.””
The words came out broken.
“She wrote me a letter for today.””
Dad froze.
“What?””
“She told me she wrote one for my graduation.””
I covered my mouth.
“I was supposed to read it after I got my diploma.””
The pain in my chest was too heavy.
Dad looked away.
And for the first time, I saw something I had rarely seen from him.
Regret.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Regret.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Hello?””
His expression hardened.
He listened.
Then he looked at me.
“Aaliyah.””
I knew.
Before he even said anything.
“What?””
His voice was low.
“The university wants you to come in tomorrow morning.””
“Why?””
“They found something.””
My heart raced.
“What?””
Dad looked down.
“They said the withdrawal request came with an attachment.””
I stepped closer.
“What attachment?””
He hesitated.
“A screenshot of your acceptance letter.””
I felt cold.
Someone hadn’t just tried to hurt me.
May you like
Someone had planned this.
Someone wanted to watch me lose everything.
