first. “It has been used for your needs.”
“My landlord says rent is two months late.”
“Because you changed the payment arrangement without telling us,” she snapped.
“I didn’t change anything. I didn’t even know there was an arrangement.”
Bianca stood near the door, arms wrapped around herself. She looked younger suddenly. Not innocent. Just scared.
Vivian turned one page toward Maris.
“Did you sign Elena’s name?”
Maris laughed once. “Don’t be insulting.”
“Did you?”
“I had verbal authorization.”
“From Elena?”
“From the situation,” Maris said, losing patience. “Someone had to act. She was falling apart.”
My face burned, but my voice held. “I was grieving. I was pregnant. Those are not permissions.”
Maris swung toward me. “You have no idea what we have carried for you. Your father’s estate was messy. Your life was messy. Then you had a baby with a man who disappeared, and everyone was supposed to applaud your independence while cleaning up behind you.”
The room went very still.
The father of my child, Daniel, had not disappeared. He had died in a delivery truck accident four months before Eli was born. Maris knew that. She had sent flowers.
Something in Vivian’s expression went cold enough to frighten even Peter.
“Do not rewrite the dead to excuse stealing from the living,” she said.
Maris flushed. “I did not steal.”
Graham lifted the bank statement. “Then explain the transfer from Eli’s education trust to Harbor Row Studios.”
Bianca made a sound, tiny and involuntary.
Maris turned on her. “Not a word.”
That was the second crack.
Graham saw it. Vivian saw it. I saw it too.
“Bianca,” Graham said carefully, “did you know where the salon deposit came from?”
Bianca’s eyes filled with panic. “Mom said it was Elena’s unused money.”
Maris hissed, “Bianca.”
“She said Elena wouldn’t need it once the hearing went through,” Bianca blurted. “She said everything would be cleaner if she managed the accounts.”
“What hearing?” I asked.
No one spoke.
Graham reached for the folder, flipping past the transfer documents with sudden urgency. A page had been clipped behind the estate petition, folded once so the header was hidden.
He unfolded it.
His face changed.
Vivian rose slowly.
“Read it,” she said.
Graham’s voice was controlled, but barely. “Petition for temporary infant-care supervision, citing maternal instability and unsafe decision-making. Requested supervisor: Maris Hart. Secondary caregiver: Bianca Hart.”
For a moment, the words did not mean anything.
Then they meant everything.
My arms tightened around Eli so quickly he startled awake and gave a soft cry.
I stood, chair scraping behind me.
“You tried to take my baby?”
Maris lifted her chin. “I tried to protect him.”
“From what?”
“From this.” She pointed at my wet coat, my messy hair, my trembling hands. “From a mother who walks through sleet because she can’t plan ahead. From unpaid bills. From panic. From instability.”
I laughed then, and it sounded nothing like joy.
“You took my car. You redirected my rent. You hid my mail. You emptied his account. Then you pointed at the mess you made and called it proof.”
Bianca started crying. “I didn’t know about the baby part. I swear, Elena, I didn’t know.”
I could not look at her yet.
Peter stepped forward. “Everyone needs to calm down. Accusations won’t
