Chapter 1: The Hand Over Her Mouth
My daughter Mia has never lied to me.
Not when she broke my watch at age four.
Not when she lost her school library book and hid it for a week.
Not once in seven years had she looked me in the eye and told me something that wasn't true.
So when I heard her crying from the hallway and pushed open her bedroom door, I believed her immediately.
My mother was crouched on the floor beside her, one hand pressed over Mia's mouth.
I don't have a clear memory of crossing the room.
I only remember pulling my mother's hand away and stepping between them, and the way Mia's whole body shook when I finally held her in my arms.
"She threw a tantrum," my mother said behind me.
"You're overreacting."
Mia's face was wet.
She had been crying long enough that her breathing had gone uneven, the kind that comes after a child has been trying very hard to stay quiet.
She pointed at my mother's black handbag on the desk.
"Dad.
Check her purse."
I looked at my mother.
She straightened her blouse and said nothing.
I walked to the desk and reached into the bag.
The first thing my hand found was a folded piece of paper.
I recognized the letterhead before I finished unfolding it.
It was from the family attorney.
Mia had apparently found it first — which was why my mother's hand had been over her mouth.
---
May you like
What was in that letter — and what did Mia see?
Comment **"NEXT"** if you want Part 2.
