I’ll never forget the first time Riley appeared at my back door, her shoes on the wrong feet, asking if I had any “grown-up scissors” for a school project Carmen forgot.
As our bond grew, so did my suspicions. The mysterious “Roger” coming and going at odd hours. The way Carmen’s nails were always freshly manicured while Riley’s hair went unbrushed. The final puzzle piece clicked when I found Riley’s diary under my azaleas where she’d been hiding. “I wish I could live with Ms. Ellen,” she’d written in wobbly script.
Armed with evidence and a fierce family lawyer, we proved Carmen had been diverting Riley’s trust fund money for spa days and designer handbags. The courtroom erupted when the judge revoked Carmen’s guardianship on the spot.
These days, Riley’s artwork covers my refrigerator. She insists on “helping” in the garden just like her dad used to, and when she kisses my cheek at bedtime, I know Thomas is smiling somewhere.
