Chapter 13 - The Women Who Remembered
My mother died five years earlier, after a long illness. She had spent the last year of her life volunteering with women who were leaving dangerous homes. She never said Robert Kincaid's name to me.
I went to her storage box that Wednesday morning and searched through her old appointment books. Inside one was a folded letter addressed to the Haven House board. She had written it in careful block letters.
**Residents' locations have been shared without permission. I believe the director knows.**
The date was six years old.
I sat on the floor with the letter in my hands. My mother had raised this alarm long before I found the missing invoices. She hadn't known whom to trust, so she'd kept a copy.
Keisha came over after work and read it. āI remember a complaint that disappeared,ā she said. āThe board chair said it had been resolved.ā
āRobert.ā
āYes.ā
āWhy didn't you tell me?ā
āI didn't know it was your mother. Our files use client numbers, not public names.ā
I didn't blame her. Privacy mattered. That was the point.
Priya advised us to give the letter to the state investigator and let its authenticity be checked, rather than parade a dead woman's name across social media.
That afternoon Helen arrived unannounced at Priya's office. She held a blue binder against her coat. Her face was gray with exhaustion.
āI took it from the desk,ā she said. āIt's my desk too. Robert keeps forgetting that.ā
Priya glanced at the lock. āDid you have a right to access those records?ā
Helen nodded. āThey're in the shared household office. I've used that drawer for twenty years.ā
May you like
Inside were printouts of my employment history, my mother's old complaint, and a sticky note in Robert's handwriting:
**Mara ā Thursday review. Sunday dinner. David handles camera.**
