The next morning, Dad did not go to work.

He made three breakfasts.

Pancakes.

Eggs.

Fruit.

Then he sat across from us with a notebook.

“I need to know everything.”

Caleb looked scared.

Ava looked at me.

I looked down at my plate.

Dad said, “Not because anyone is in trouble. Because I can’t protect what I don’t know.”

So we told him.

Not all at once.

Children don’t tell pain in straight lines.

Ava remembered the time Vanessa threw away my library book because it had my mom’s note tucked inside.

Caleb remembered the time she told me I could not sit in the front seat because “real daughters go first.”

I remembered the Christmas stocking.

The one with my name embroidered by Mom.

Vanessa replaced it with a plain red one.

When Dad asked where the embroidered stocking went, Vanessa said it had been damaged.

It had not.

Ava whispered, “It’s in the attic.”

Dad stood.

We followed.

The attic was hot and dusty.

Dad pulled down boxes while Caleb held the flashlight.

We found my stocking in a garbage bag.

Along with my mom’s winter coat.

A photo album.

A music box.

Three birthday cards still sealed.

My knees went weak.

Dad caught me.

“She hid these?” I whispered.

He did not answer.

He didn’t need to.

Inside the first birthday card, Mom’s handwriting curved across the page.

For Nia at thirteen.

My hands shook.

Dad whispered, “You don’t have to read it now.”

But I did.

My sweet girl,

If you are reading this, then you are growing taller without me there to measure you on the kitchen wall. I hate that. I hate every second I will miss. But I need you to know something.

No one who loves you should ask you to become smaller so they can feel bigger.

I started sobbing before I finished.

Dad held me on the attic floor.

Caleb and Ava cried too.

The letter ended with:

Buy good shoes. Run toward the life you deserve.

Dad pressed his forehead against mine.

“I am so sorry.”

This time, I said what I had not been able to say before.

“You should have noticed.”

He flinched.

“I know.”

“You loved her. How did you not see Vanessa taking her away?”

His face twisted.

“Because I thought grief was making me sensitive. Vanessa told me I was keeping the house trapped in the past. I wanted to believe moving forward meant healing.”

I wiped my face.

“It didn’t.”

“No,” he whispered. “It didn’t.”

That afternoon, Dad called a lawyer.

Then he called Vanessa.

He put it on speaker.

“Where is Elise’s necklace?”

Vanessa scoffed.

“You called me for that?”

“Yes.”

“You threw me out over junk from a dead woman, and now you want to talk about a necklace?”

Dad’s face hardened.

Caleb grabbed my hand.

Dad said, “That dead woman was my wife and Nia’s mother.”

Vanessa was silent.

Then Dad continued.

“If you sold it, tell me where. If you kept it, return it. If you destroyed it, say so now.”

Her voice turned cold.

“You want honesty? Fine. I pawned it.”

My stomach dropped.

“Where?” Dad asked.

“Northside Pawn.”

“When?”

“Two months ago.”

“Why?”

“Because I was tired of seeing her ghost around my house.”

Dad closed his eyes.

“It was never your house to cleanse.”

Vanessa laughed bitterly.

“You made that clear.”

“No,” Dad said. “You did.”

He ended the call.

Then he looked at me.

“We’re going to Northside Pawn.”

I nodded.

But in my chest, fear grew.

Because if the necklace was gone too, it would feel like losing Mom again.