I went completely still. “Grandma Patty told you Daddy comes to visit you?”
Olivia nodded, then suddenly looked frightened. “But it’s a secret. She said you’d ruin it.”
“What would I ruin?”
“Daddy finding me.”
I gently set down the tiny yellow doll shoe before I crushed it in my hand.
“Baby girl, Daddy loved you very much,” I said slowly. “But Daddy died. Remember?”
Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “No. Grandma says you only tell me that because you don’t want me waiting.”
I wanted to call Patty and scream until my voice disappeared.
Instead, I touched Olivia’s knee softly.
“What else did Grandma tell you?”
Olivia glanced nervously toward the doorway. “She said if I cut my hair, Daddy might not pick me.”
I had to leave the room before my face frightened her.
In the hallway, I took three sharp breaths. Then I wiped my eyes, walked into the kitchen, and opened Olivia’s daycare backpack.
“What did Patty do?” I whispered.
Beneath Olivia’s sweater sat a folded sheet of construction paper.
Olivia had drawn herself, Grandma Patty, and a tall blond man standing in front of a large house. Above the man, written in Patty’s careful handwriting, were the words:
“Daddy’s home.”
I flipped the page over.
Taped to the back was a photocopy of William holding Olivia as a baby.
Underneath, Patty had written:
“Don’t forget who you belong to, Olivia.”
Patty had always made comments about William’s life insurance and how “his side” deserved a voice in Olivia’s future. I used to excuse it as grief.
But staring at her handwriting now, I wasn’t sure anymore.
The next morning, I called Mr. Wallace, the attorney who handled William’s estate.
“Allie,” he answered. “Is everything alright?”
“No. Since I’m trustee over Olivia’s inheritance, has Patty contacted you recently?”
Silence.
My grip tightened on the phone. “What did she ask?”
“She called last month,” he said carefully. “She wanted to know whether a grandparent could petition for oversight of a child’s trust if the surviving parent appeared emotionally unstable.”
“She actually used those words?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“She asked whether erasing the memory of the deceased parent could support a visitation complaint.”
I looked toward Olivia’s bedroom door. “I never erased William. Patty created the fear herself, and now she’s trying to use it as evidence.”
“Allie,” he said firmly, “document everything. I told Patty I can only act within my legal role, and William’s wishes were very clear. You and Olivia come first.”
That afternoon, I drove alone to Patty’s house.
She opened the front door wearing William’s old college sweatshirt.
“Allie,” she said stiffly. “Where’s my girl?”
“She’s home with my mother.”
Her smile tightened immediately. “Then why are you here?”
I stepped inside and placed Olivia’s drawing onto the coffee table.
