Patricia hadn't merely hidden letters.
She had been answering for me.
Deciding what I wanted.
Controlling which concerns reached me.
And telling the people around Sophia that I didn't want to be involved.
I looked toward the hallway.
I thought about my daughter waiting for phone calls that never came.
I thought about the school counselor trying to help.
And I realized Patricia had built a wall around us, then convinced each of us the other had chosen to stand on the opposite side.
There were more messages.
Some had been sent from the household account.
Others were saved drafts.
A few were copies of communications with Sophia's grandmother.
I found a message from my mother-in-law asking whether she could take Sophia to the park on the anniversary of her daughter's birthday.
Patricia had replied that I thought the visit would be too upsetting.
I hadn't known about the request.
Another message told my mother-in-law that Sophia was becoming more independent and didn't want to spend as much time with extended family.
I thought of Sophia running into her grandmother's arms.
The idea that she'd voluntarily wanted distance was absurd.
Then I found a school activity notification showing that Sophia had been invited to participate in an art club.
I remembered her asking for drawing supplies several months earlier.
Patricia told me she'd lost interest in art.
The archived response declined the invitation.
It said Sophia needed to focus on responsibilities at home.
I closed my eyes.
My daughter had loved drawing since she was old enough to hold a crayon.
Her mother had been an artist in her spare time, filling notebooks with watercolor sketches and little portraits of people she loved. Sophia used to sit beside her and copy the shapes, laughing whenever her drawings turned out differently.
After her mother died, drawing became one of the ways Sophia remembered her.
And Patricia had apparently decided it was another activity she could remove.
I took a slow breath.
Then I carefully saved the communications I was entitled to access and sent copies to my attorney through the secure method she recommended.
I didn't contact Patricia.
Not yet.
I needed to understand the situation before allowing another confrontation to turn into a battle of accusations.
More importantly, Sophia needed time to feel safe.
My anger could wait.
Three days later, the family attorney met with me again.
She was calm, direct, and unwilling to let my frustration determine the legal strategy.