Chapter 6 - The Spare Key

My mother had been my account recovery contact for years.

I had set it up when I was twenty-four and never changed it.

That tiny piece of laziness had just cost me almost ten thousand dollars.

I froze the account, changed every password I could think of, and removed every recovery number that wasn't mine.

Then I called Mom.

She answered with, "Finally."

"Did you transfer nine thousand eight hundred dollars out of my savings account?"

No hesitation.

"Jason needed the deposit."

I gripped the edge of the bedside table.

"That money is for Layla."

"You have insurance."

I stared at the sleeping child between us, though my mother wasn't there to see it.

"You stole my daughter's emergency money."

"Don't be dramatic. We were going to replace it."

"When?"

"After the wedding gifts settle."

"The wedding was a month ago."

"People are still sending checks."

My voice went flat. "Give it back."

"We can't."

"Why?"

"The resort charged the card this morning."

A laugh escaped me, sharp and empty.

"So while Layla was struggling to breathe, you were paying for Jason's honeymoon with her emergency fund."

"Claire, stop using the child to make us look cruel."

Everything in me went quiet.

"The child?"

Mom realized it too late.

"You know what I meant."

"Her name is Layla."

"Of course I know her name."

"Then say it."

Silence.

"Say her name, Mom."

She didn't.

Instead she said, "Your father could lose his career because of your little fraud report."

"He accessed my bank profile without permission."

"He was helping his son."

"And what am I?"

Mom's answer came colder than I expected.

"You're the one who always lands on her feet."

I looked down at myself—two days without a shower, hospital socks because my shoes hurt, hair pulled up with a broken elastic, one hand wrapped around my daughter's.

"Not this time," I said.

Then I ended the call.

Andrea had been standing at the sink, pretending not to listen.

She turned slowly.

"Do you have somewhere safe to go when Layla is discharged?"

The question startled me.

"My apartment. Why?"

"Because people who feel entitled to your money sometimes feel entitled to your door too."

I thought about the spare key Mom kept "for emergencies."

My phone buzzed.

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A text from Jason.

We're coming to the hospital. You need to fix this before Dad's boss finds out.