His wife stared.
“You’re throwing me out?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I’m removing my daughter from this house tonight.”
She looked toward the stairs.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Because of her?”
The father’s face hardened.
“Because of you.”
He went upstairs.
His daughter sat on the edge of her bed with the door locked.
He knocked.
“It’s me.”
The lock clicked.
She opened the door.
Her eyes immediately went to the envelope in her stepmother’s hand behind him.
The father turned.
His wife had followed.
“Stay downstairs.”
She stopped.
He looked at his daughter.
“Pack enough clothes for a few days.”
Her face changed.
“Am I leaving?”
“We’re leaving.”
She stared.
“You too?”
“Yes.”
Something in her face broke.
Not fear.
Relief.
That hurt him more.
She turned away quickly.
He stepped inside.
Closed the door.
Then sat on the edge of her desk chair.
His daughter began pulling clothes into the backpack.
He watched.
“Hey.”
She kept packing.
“Look at me.”
She did.
He held up the phone.
“I found messages.”
Her face tightened.
“About me?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell you I’m lying?”
“No.”
He paused.
“She was looking for Grandma’s envelope because it may contain documents about this house.”
His daughter stared.
“What documents?”
“I don’t know yet.”
That was true.
“Your stepmother thinks Grandma transferred ownership to you.”
The girl froze.
Then laughed once from shock.
“What?”
“I don’t know whether that’s legally correct.”
He emphasized it.
“But there are messages about it.”
His daughter looked at the drawer.
“Grandma told me not to open the envelope until I was ready.”
The father frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did she give it to you?”
“Two days before she went back to the hospital.”
The father’s chest tightened.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
His daughter looked guilty.
“She said not to.”
He stared.
His daughter continued quickly:
“She said it wasn’t a secret from you.”