Instead, Maya told him about breakfast.
How Nicole stopped buying the cereal Maya liked because she said eighteen-year-olds should not eat like children.
How she moved Laura's old ceramic bowls into a cabinet above the refrigerator because they did not match the newer dishes.
How she told Ethan that his mother would have been disappointed in him when he forgot to finish his homework.
Richard listened.
At first, he wanted to interrupt.
He remembered Nicole telling him that Ethan struggled with discipline and that Maya resented the normal rules of a household.
But each time he opened his mouth, he remembered his daughter's words.
You just didn't see.
So he remained quiet.
Maya continued.
"She started with Mom's pictures."
Richard looked up.
"What about them?"
Maya swallowed.
"The ones in the hallway."
He frowned.
"They're in the storage boxes."
"I know."
He hesitated.
"I thought you packed them."
Maya shook her head.
"No."
Richard's expression changed.
Maya continued.
"Nicole said it made things uncomfortable to have pictures of Mom everywhere."
She looked toward the doorway.
"She said we needed to accept that our family had changed."
Richard stared.
"I thought you wanted to redecorate."
Maya gave a sad little laugh.
"She told you that?"
He nodded slowly.
His daughter wiped her eyes.
"She took down the picture of Mom holding Ethan when he was a baby. I asked her to put it back."
Maya's voice tightened.
"She said I was trying to make her feel like a guest in her own home."
Richard looked toward Ethan.
The boy lowered his eyes.
Maya continued.
"After that, every time I mentioned Mom, Nicole got upset."
"Did she tell you not to talk about her?"
"Not exactly."
Maya swallowed.
"She'd say things like, 'Your father is finally happy again. Why do you keep dragging him back into the past?'"
Richard closed his eyes.
He remembered Nicole saying almost those exact words to him.
Not as a threat.
As a complaint about how difficult Maya was becoming.
He had believed her.
He looked toward his daughter.
"What else?"
Maya hesitated.
Then spoke about the money.
The small savings account Laura had opened for her.
The birthday cards from her grandparents.
The money she earned working weekends at a local bookstore.
Nicole had insisted on controlling what Maya spent.
At first, she described it as teaching financial responsibility.
Then she began questioning every purchase.
A twenty-dollar pair of shoes.
A school field trip.
A notebook.
A bus ticket to visit a friend.
Sometimes she required Maya to show receipts.
Sometimes she accused her of hiding money.
Last spring, Maya had been accepted into a summer photography workshop at a nearby community arts center.
The program offered a partial scholarship.
Maya needed the remaining fee.