Vanessa left alone.

She slammed the door so hard the picture frames shook.

Ava started sobbing.

Caleb stood frozen, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to comfort her.

Dad knelt in front of them.

“You are not being punished.”

Ava cried harder.

“Mom will be mad.”

Dad took her hands.

“That is not your job to carry.”

Caleb looked at me.

“Is Nia mad at us?”

I didn’t know how to answer.

Part of me was.

Not because they did anything wrong.

Because they had been fed while I was hungry.

Chosen while I was ignored.

Given new shoes while mine fell apart.

But Caleb had asked about the chicken.

Ava had called my sneakers pretty.

They were kids too.

I held the jewelry box tighter.

“I’m not mad at you.”

Caleb’s face crumpled.

“I knew she was mean sometimes.”

Dad closed his eyes.

“How long?”

Caleb looked terrified.

Dad softened his voice.

“You’re not in trouble.”

Caleb whispered, “When you worked late. She would make Nia clean the kitchen if she talked about her mom. She said the house needed to move on.”

Ava wiped her nose.

“She put Nia’s picture in the drawer once. I put it back.”

I looked at Ava.

“You did?”

She nodded.

“I thought your mom looked nice.”

I started crying.

Dad pulled all three of us into his arms.

“I failed you,” he said.

I wanted to tell him no.

But I couldn’t.

Because he had.

Not on purpose.

But he had missed so much.

That night, Dad ordered pizza.

Three personal pizzas.

One for each of us.

Then he looked at me.

“What was your favorite thing your mom made?”

“Chicken soup,” I whispered.

“Tomorrow, we’ll find her recipe.”

“She wrote it on a yellow card.”

Dad stood.

His face changed.

“The recipe box.”

My heart jumped.

“What?”

“Elise’s recipe box. It was in the pantry. Did Vanessa touch that too?”

We ran to the pantry.

The shelf was empty.

Dad’s hands gripped the doorframe.

“No.”

I felt dizzy.

The recipe box had more than recipes.

Mom used to tuck little notes inside.

Birthday ideas.

Holiday menus.

A list called Things Nia Loves.

Dad turned to Caleb and Ava.

“Did either of you see a wooden recipe box?”

Ava nodded slowly.

“Mom put it in the trash last month.”

I stopped breathing.

Dad looked like he might break.

Caleb said quickly, “Not outside trash. Garage trash. I took it out.”

Dad stared at him.

“What do you mean?”

Caleb ran to the garage.

We followed.

He climbed onto a storage bin and pulled down a cardboard box from a high shelf.

Inside were things.

My old drawings.

A cracked snow globe.

A scarf.

And Mom’s wooden recipe box.

Caleb’s voice shook.

“I saved stuff when Mom threw it away.”

I looked at him.

“Why?”

He started crying.

“Because I thought someday you’d want it.”

I hugged him so hard the box nearly fell.

Ava hugged us both.

Dad turned away, covering his face.

Inside the recipe box, the yellow chicken soup card was still there.

So was the list.

Things Nia Loves.

Strawberry lemonade.

Purple socks.

Rainy days.

Stories about brave girls.

White sneakers.

I touched the last line.

White sneakers.

Dad read it over my shoulder.

His face crumpled.

“She knew.”

I whispered, “She always knew.”

That night, Dad slept on the couch outside our rooms.

Not because we asked.

Because he said he needed to be close.

I went to bed with my new shoes beside me and Mom’s recipe box under my pillow.

For the first time in a long time, I slept without listening for Vanessa’s footsteps.