Chapter 13 - Charity in Her Own Name
I stared at the donations. A retired teacher had given fifty dollars. The school custodian who bought a muffin every Friday had given ten. One customer wrote that my mother once fed her children for free during a winter when her husband was unemployed.
Corinne had taken those people's kindness and turned it into another weapon.
"We need to tell them," Liv said.
"We will," I replied. "After we've saved every page and the payment details."
Maya contacted the fundraising platform to preserve records and contest the organizer's authority. We posted a simple statement from the business account: Bell & Flour had not authorized this campaign, the bakery was still fulfilling prepaid orders, and anyone wishing to help could support the church food pantry instead.
Within an hour, neighbors began sharing our post.
Corinne called seventeen times. I didn't answer.
She came to the rented kitchen that evening wearing a cream coat and an expression of wounded disbelief.
"You publicly humiliated me," she said.
I was brushing butter onto dough. "You used my mother's name to collect money."
"I was trying to help this family."
"Then show me where the donations went."
"You have no idea how much work I've put into keeping everyone together."
"Eleven days?" I asked.
She blinked.
"Eleven days of posts about your perfect Christmas. Eleven days filming me like some guest you barely tolerated. Did you build that gingerbread house just to break it?"
She glanced at Eli, who stood by the oven.
"I didn't build it," she said quietly.
"I know."
Her eyes hardened. "Your mother left behind a business your father couldn't run. You walked out. I've been the one holding the mess."
"Then why pay your brother seventy-three thousand dollars?"
She took one step closer. "Because the people who actually understand money don't sit around crying over frosting."
Eli set down his tray. "You need to leave."
Corinne pointed a finger at me. "When that loan comes due, your father will know who ruined his life."
May you like
She swept out, knocking the door so hard the bell rang twice.
Rina looked at the cash journal on her lap. "Tessa," she said, "the donations weren't the first fundraiser. There was one last spring, too. And somebody changed the beneficiary after the money cleared."
