Chapter 10
Patricia lived in Tennessee.
She was six years older than Ryan and almost completely estranged from Linda.
I had met her only a handful of times.
Ryan always described her as unstable.
Difficult.
Ungrateful.
Linda called her “the daughter who abandoned her family.”
Now her notary seal appeared on a forged document.
My first reaction was suspicion.
Claire’s was caution.
“Do not assume she participated.”
“What else am I supposed to think?”
“Seals can be copied.”
Officer Daniels had already contacted Patricia.
She denied notarizing anything.
More importantly, she sounded furious.
Two days later, Patricia drove to Charlotte voluntarily.
She met with police first.
Then she asked to see me.
I agreed.
We met at Claire’s office.
Patricia looked older than I remembered.
Not old.
Tired.
She placed a small black notary stamp on the table.
“This one was replaced last year.”
Claire leaned forward.
“Why?”
“I reported the old one missing.”
“When?”
“After Mom visited me.”
My skin prickled.
Patricia laughed bitterly.
“I didn’t accuse her because I couldn’t prove it.”
“What happened?”
“She stayed at my house for three nights. After she left, my seal and an old checkbook disappeared.”
“Did she ever return them?”
“No.”
Claire asked, “Why was Linda visiting if you were estranged?”
Patricia looked embarrassed.
“She said Ryan needed help.”
That sentence sounded familiar.
“What kind of help?”
“She told me you were destroying him.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course.”
Patricia looked at me directly.
“I believed her for about two weeks.”
“What changed?”
“Ryan called me.”
She took a breath.
“He wanted me to write a statement saying he had always been the primary parent.”
I stared at her.
“He asked you that?”
“Yes.”
“You barely saw us.”
“I told him exactly that.”
“What did he say?”
“He said family should help family.”
I shook my head.
Patricia continued.
“When I refused, Mom stopped calling.”
Claire asked, “Did Ryan ever discuss Emily’s mental health?”
Patricia’s expression darkened.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did he say?”
“That you were unstable after your father died.”
“I grieved.”
“I know.”
“He said you took medication.”
“For four months.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Mom told everyone.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course she had.
Patricia leaned toward me.
“Emily, I need to tell you something you’re not going to like.”
I waited.
“This is what Mom does.”
“What?”
“She builds a story about someone before she attacks them.”
The room went quiet.
Patricia described her own childhood.
When she was seventeen, Linda told relatives Patricia was wild.
When Patricia wanted to move away for college, Linda said she was mentally fragile.
When Patricia married a man Linda disliked, Linda told Ryan their sister had been manipulated.
Years later, when Patricia finally cut contact, Linda told the family she had become unstable and cruel.
Ryan believed every word.
“So he learned this from her,” I said.
Patricia’s face tightened.
“Yes.”
Then she added, “But don’t excuse him.”
I looked at her.
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Because I spent years making excuses for him.”
That surprised me.
“He was a kid when most of it happened.”
“He isn’t a kid now.”
No.
He wasn’t.
Patricia brought boxes.
Old emails from Linda.
Messages from Ryan.
One email from six years earlier stunned me.
Ryan had written to Patricia after one of their arguments:
Mom says if you keep disrespecting her, she’ll make sure everyone knows what kind of mother you really are.
Patricia had replied:
That’s exactly why I’m leaving.
I read it twice.
Ryan knew.
Years ago, he knew his mother used threats about children to control women.
Yet he helped her do the same to me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Patricia’s eyes filled.
“I tried once.”
I frowned.
“When?”
“Your wedding.”
I barely remembered talking to her privately.
Then something returned.
Patricia had found me outside the reception hall.
She said:
Don’t let Mom get between you and Ryan.
At the time I thought she was bitter.
Ryan later told me Patricia was jealous because Linda and I were close.
I felt foolish again.
“I didn’t listen.”
“You were in love.”
“That isn’t an excuse.”
“No. It’s context.”
She sounded like Claire.
Maybe I needed people who separated context from excuses.
Police examined Patricia’s missing stamp.
The serial number matched the forged document.
Linda had apparently kept it for more than a year.
That added another layer to the fraud case.
Patricia agreed to testify.
Ryan found out that evening.
He called her.
She didn’t answer.
He sent seventeen messages.
The first few begged.
Then blamed.
Then threatened.
You always hated Mom.
Emily is using you.
You’re destroying Noah’s family.
If you testify, don’t ever call me your brother again.
Patricia showed me the messages without crying.
“I already lost my brother years ago,” she said.
“That hurts.”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“But I don’t have to lie to get him back.”
The next supervised visit went worse than the first.
Ryan arrived with no soccer ball.
No toys.
He sat across from Noah and looked exhausted.
Monica reported the conversation afterward.
Ryan had apologized for yelling.
But he did not apologize for hitting me.
He said:
“Adults made mistakes.”
Noah asked:
“Did Mom make mistakes?”
Ryan answered:
“Everybody did.”
Monica stopped him.
The visit continued.
Then Noah asked the question Ryan apparently wasn’t expecting.
“Did you tell Grandma to hit Mom?”
Ryan became visibly upset.
“No.”
“Did you tell Grandma to make Mom mad?”
Ryan didn’t answer.
Noah asked again.
“Dad?”
Ryan looked at Monica.
“I need a break.”
He ended the visit early.
When Noah came to me, he didn’t cry.
He looked angry.
“Dad keeps saying everybody.”
I knelt.
“What do you mean?”
“He says everybody made mistakes.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t.”
My heart cracked.
“No, you didn’t.”
“And you didn’t tell Grandma to hit you.”
“No.”
He looked directly at me.
“So why can’t Dad just say what he did?”
I had no answer that wouldn’t hurt him.
So I gave him the truth.
“Because saying the truth about ourselves can be harder than saying it about other people.”
Noah thought about that.
Then he said quietly, “I hope he learns.”
“So do I.”
That night, Patricia stayed with Rachel and me for dinner.
For the first time, Noah met his aunt without Linda controlling the room.
Patricia brought him an old photograph of Ryan as a boy holding a giant fish.
Noah smiled.
“Dad was little?”
Patricia laughed.
“Very.”
For a few minutes, everything felt almost normal.
Then Patricia’s phone rang.
She looked at the number and went pale.
“Mom’s attorney.”
She answered on speaker.
The attorney said Linda was willing to cooperate with prosecutors.
In exchange, she wanted consideration on the forgery charges.
Claire had warned us something like this might happen.
Patricia asked one question.
“Cooperate against whom?”
The lawyer hesitated.
Then answered.
“Ryan.”
I looked at Patricia.
She looked at me.
May you like
Linda was about to turn on her own son.
And if she told the truth, I might finally learn exactly what they had planned to do to me.
