Chapter 7: The Plan To Keep Me Home
I couldn’t move.
The words from Dr. Anderson echoed in my mind.
Someone was preparing for me not to leave home at all.
I looked across the room at my mother.
Karen was standing near the window, watching me with a face that revealed nothing.
But I knew her.
I had spent eighteen years learning every expression she made.
The slight tightening around her eyes.
The way she pressed her lips together when she was hiding something.
She knew.
“Dr. Anderson,” I whispered into the phone, “what kind of change was requested?””
There was a pause.
“Ava, I’m going to be careful with what I say. We don’t have proof of intent. But the request involved updating your student records and emergency contact details.””
My heart raced.
“Who was added?””
Another pause.
Then:
“Your mother.””
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
She wasn’t just trying to stop me from leaving.
She was trying to make herself the person the university contacted.
The person who could speak for me.
The person who could interfere.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said.
After I ended the call, I stood there silently.
Karen noticed.
“What did they say?””
I looked at her.
“You tried to change my emergency contact.””
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“I was making sure you had support.””
“No.””
My voice surprised even me.
“No, you were making sure you stayed connected to me.””
She crossed her arms.
“You’re turning this into something it’s not.””
“Am I?””
“Yes.””
She stepped closer.
“You have always been sensitive.””
I shook my head.
“No. I have always been quiet.””
That stopped her.
Because it was true.
For years, I swallowed everything.
The missed opportunities.
The responsibilities.
The moments where I needed a mother but became a second parent instead.
“I thought you were sacrificing for me,” I said.
Karen looked away.
“But you were sacrificing me.””
Her face hardened.
“You’re being cruel.””
“No. I’m being honest.””
She walked into the kitchen.
“I raised you.””
“Yes.””
“I fed you.””
“Yes.””
“I gave you a home.””
“Yes.””
She turned around.
“Then why are you acting like I’m your enemy?””
Because I finally understood the difference.
Someone could provide for you and still hurt you.
Someone could love you and still damage you.
“I don’t think you’re my enemy,” I said quietly.
“Then what?””
I looked at her.
“I think you’re someone who was hurt and decided other people should hurt too.””
For the first time, she looked genuinely wounded.
But then the anger returned.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.””
Maybe I didn’t.
Not completely.
But I knew what I had seen.
That night, I searched through old family documents.
I wasn’t looking for revenge.
I was looking for answers.
I found old school records.
Old letters.
Old photographs.
Then I found something hidden inside a folder.
A list.
Not official.
Just handwritten names.
Emily.
Another woman named Rachel.
Another named Sophie.
All with dates beside them.
All around the same ages they would have received college offers.
My hands trembled.
This wasn’t just about me.
My mother had built a pattern.
And someone had documented it.
At the bottom of the page was a note.
A sentence written in handwriting I didn’t recognize.
*“She will do anything to keep them dependent.””*
I stared at those words.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
I opened it.
It said:
*“If you found the list, you need to meet me before Karen finds out.””*
I stared at the message.
Then another one arrived.
This time with a name.
May you like
A name I had never heard before.
*“I’m Rachel. I was one of the girls she stopped.””*
