Chapter 7 — The Break-In
The police arrived before I did.
That was the only thing that kept me from doing something stupid.
On the camera feed, Austin moved through my apartment with the confidence of someone who had never believed locked doors applied to him. Christina went straight for my desk.
“Check the drawers,” Austin said.
“I am.”
“We need the Willow Creek lease.”
“And the bank papers,” Christina snapped. “If she has proof, Mom is screwed.”
I sat in Aunt Lydia’s passenger seat while she drove like a woman thirty years younger, both hands clenched around the wheel.
My phone was connected to the car speaker, the live audio filling the space between us.
Christina opened a drawer.
“It’s locked.”
“Break it.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know, Christina, improvise.”
Aunt Lydia muttered, “Little criminals.”
Then a knock sounded through the camera.
Austin froze.
Christina whispered, “Don’t move.”
Another knock.
“Police department. Open the door.”
Christina’s face went white on screen.
Austin whispered something I could not hear.
Then he walked to the door and opened it with a smile.
I had seen that smile before. He used it with waitresses, landlords, older women at church, anyone he thought might mistake charm for character.
“Officers,” he said. “Everything’s fine. This is our sister’s place.”
“Do you live here?” one officer asked.
“No, but—”
“Do you have permission to be here?”
Austin laughed lightly. “It’s family. We have a key.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
By the time Aunt Lydia pulled into the parking lot, Austin and Christina were standing in the hallway with two officers. Christina’s sunglasses were on top of her head now. She looked furious and frightened.
I got out slowly.
Austin saw me.
His face changed.
“You called the cops on us?”
“You broke into my apartment.”
“We used a key.”
“That you did not have permission to use.”
Christina pointed at me. “We were worried about you.”
I looked past her at the officer.
“They were not worried. I have video and audio of them saying they were looking for my lease and bank papers.”
The officer turned to them.
Austin’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
For once, silence had found him.
I unlocked my phone and showed the footage. Christina’s voice played clearly.
If she has proof, Mom is screwed.
The female officer’s eyebrows lifted.
“Ms. Marlow,” she asked me, “do you want to press charges?”
Austin barked a laugh.
“Come on.”
Christina’s eyes widened. “Daniela.”
There it was again. My name turned into a leash.
I thought of the attic. The letters. The money orders. The Easter door.
“Yes,” I said.
The word was quiet, but it landed hard.
Austin stepped toward me. An officer blocked him.
“You are seriously going to ruin my life over this?”
“No, Austin. I am going to stop letting you ruin mine.”
Christina began to cry.
Her tears were messier than my mother’s but no more honest.
“We’re your family,” she sobbed.
I looked at her.
“No. You are people who had access.”
That was when Patricia arrived.
She must have followed the police scanner of family disaster, because she came flying down the hall in sandals, hair unbrushed, face blazing.
“What are you doing?” she screamed at me.
The hallway doors began to open.
Neighbors peered out.
Good.
For once, let there be witnesses.
“She is having us arrested,” Christina cried.
Patricia turned on me.
“Have you lost your mind?”
Aunt Lydia stepped forward. “Careful, Patricia.”
My mother saw her and recoiled. “Of course you’re here.”
“Yes,” Aunt Lydia said. “This family could have used more witnesses years ago.”
Patricia ignored her and reached for me. “Daniela, stop this right now.”
The officer moved between us.
“Ma’am, step back.”
Patricia’s face flushed. “I am her mother.”
“Then act like it,” Aunt Lydia said.
A shocked little laugh escaped one neighbor.
Patricia heard it. Her humiliation sharpened into rage.
“She is unstable,” she told the officers. “She has always been unstable. She is punishing us because she found out family business.”
“What family business?” the female officer asked.
I answered before Patricia could.
“That my mother concealed my biological father from me, stole financial support he sent, and allowed my siblings to use my personal information to apply for credit.”
The hallway went silent.
Patricia looked as if I had stripped her naked in public.
“That is not true.”
I held up my phone.
“I have the letters.”
For a moment, my mother looked afraid.
Not hurt.
Afraid.
That told me there was even more.
Austin and Christina were not hauled away in handcuffs like a television drama. Real life is less theatrical. They were cited, questioned, and warned not to return. The officers told me how to file a full report and seek a protective order if harassment continued.
It was enough.
For now.
After they left, I changed the locks. A locksmith came within the hour. Aunt Lydia sat on my sofa with a baseball bat across her lap while I gathered every document from my files.
Birth certificate.
Social Security card.
Tax returns.
Lease copies.
Bank statements.
Credit reports.
Letters from Nathaniel.
Proof.
So much proof.
Near sunset, after Aunt Lydia left, my apartment was quiet again.
Too quiet.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
But something made me answer.
A nurse from St. Catherine’s Hospital spoke carefully.
“Ms. Marlow? You’re listed as emergency contact for Warren Marlow.”
My chest tightened.
“What happened?”
“He collapsed at home. He’s awake, but asking for you.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Even now.
Even after everything.
Then a text from Patricia appeared.
If your father dies, that blood is on your hands.
I stared at it.
For years, that would have sent me running.
Now I picked up my keys for a different reason.
Not because Patricia commanded me.
May you like
Not because Warren deserved me.
But because I deserved to decide who I became next.
