Chapter 1: Those Aren’t Yours
“My grandson doesn’t need another backpack,” Tasha said.
“He needs to learn that some things aren’t meant for him.””
She said it while standing beside three shopping bags stuffed with brand-new school supplies.
Nine-year-old Isaiah froze with one hand still inside his broken backpack.
The zipper had split halfway down the side, and his old notebooks were bent at the corners from being shoved into it every morning. Across the kitchen table, Jordan and Ava were laughing as they pulled shiny new sneakers from their boxes.
Isaiah glanced at the sneakers.
Then at his own.
His were gray with a hole near the toe.
I had seen that hole before. Three weeks earlier, Malcolm had told me he was sending money specifically for Isaiah’s school expenses.
Five hundred dollars.
“Sweetheart,” I said softly, “where are your new school things?””
Isaiah lowered his eyes.
“I don't have any.””
The kitchen suddenly seemed much quieter.
Tasha folded a tiny pair of socks and tossed them into Ava’s shopping bag.
“He has supplies at home.””
“Those are from last year,” Isaiah whispered.
Tasha looked at him.
“Isaiah.””
He immediately stopped talking.
I walked toward the table.
“Malcolm told me he sent money.””
“He sends money every month,” Tasha replied.
“That doesn't mean every dollar has to be spent on school supplies.””
Isaiah reached toward a blue notebook sitting beside a stack of unopened pencils.
Tasha moved faster.
She snatched it away.
“Those aren’t yours.””
Isaiah pulled his hand back as if the notebook had burned him.
I stared at her.
“He needs a notebook.””
“He has one.””
“Where?””
Tasha shrugged.
“Somewhere.””
Isaiah quietly pushed his backpack behind his legs.
“I can use the old one,” he said.
I crouched beside him.
“Look at me.””
He did.
“You don't have to be embarrassed about needing school supplies.””
His eyes flicked toward Tasha.
Then he whispered, “Dad said I could get them.””
That sentence hit me harder than it should have.
Because Malcolm had said the same thing to me.
He had called me from his warehouse shift two weeks earlier, exhausted but proud.
“Mom, I transferred five hundred to Tasha,” he'd said.
“Tell Isaiah to pick whatever he needs.””
I had trusted him.
I had trusted his wife.
Now I was looking at two brand-new backpacks, two pairs of expensive sneakers, two complete sets of school supplies—and nothing for Isaiah.
My eyes landed on a receipt beside Tasha’s purse.
I picked it up.
Two backpacks.
Two pairs of shoes.
Two jackets.
School supplies for Jordan and Ava.
The total was $487.63.
I looked at Tasha.
“Where is Isaiah’s?””
Her expression hardened.
“You're making this into something it isn't.””
“I'm asking a simple question.””
“You don't live here.””
“No,” I said.
“But my grandson does.””
Isaiah sat perfectly still.
Then his small voice came from beneath the table.
“Grandma?””
I turned.
“Can I use the blue folder if Ava doesn't want it?””
I couldn't answer immediately.
I pulled out my phone.
Tasha’s face changed.
“Who are you calling?””
“Malcolm.””
She stepped forward.
“Don't.””
I pressed his name.
He answered on the fourth ring, with the roar of machinery behind him.
“Mom?””
“Malcolm, I need you to tell me something.””
His voice changed.
“What happened?””
“Did you send Tasha five hundred dollars for Isaiah’s school supplies?””
Silence.
“Yes.””
“And did she buy anything for him?””
Another silence.
I watched Isaiah stare at the floor.
Finally Malcolm said, “Mom, where are you?””
“At your house.””
His breathing became heavier.
“Is Isaiah there?””
“Yes.””
“Put him on the phone.””
I handed Isaiah the phone.
“Dad?””
Malcolm’s voice softened immediately.
“Hey, buddy. Are you okay?””
Isaiah glanced at Tasha.
“I'm fine.””
“You sure?””
“Yes.””
“Did you get your supplies?””
Isaiah didn't answer.
Tasha turned away.
I took the phone back.
“Malcolm, something else is happening here.””
“What?””
I lowered my voice.
“Come home when you can.””
“I can't leave work.””
“Then tell me now.””
He was quiet for several seconds.
Finally he said, “Mom... the five hundred wasn't the only money.””
I looked at Isaiah.
“What do you mean?””
“My wife doesn't know I told you this.””
“Then tell me.””
“After Isaiah’s mother died, she left something for him.””
My stomach tightened.
“What did she leave?””
“A letter.””
“And?””
“An envelope.””
“What was in it?””
Malcolm hesitated.
Then his voice dropped to a whisper.
“Forty-eight thousand dollars.””
I stared at the kitchen wall.
Behind me, Isaiah was carefully stacking his old notebooks.
“Where is it now?”” I asked.
“I don't know.””
“What do you mean you don't know?””
“I found out last year that the account was being drained.””
My grip tightened around the phone.
“How much is left?””
Malcolm exhaled.
“That's what I need you to find out.””
Then he said something that made me turn toward Tasha.
“Check the bottom drawer of my old desk.””
Tasha had stopped moving.
She was listening.
Malcolm continued.
“There's an envelope with Isaiah’s name on it.””
I looked at the desk in the hallway.
Then at Tasha.
May you like
She was watching me now.
And for the first time that afternoon, she looked afraid.
