Chapter 9: My Mother's Final Message
The USB drive looked ordinary.
A small silver device with a black plastic cap.
But as I stared at it, my hands began trembling.
Margaret sat beside me.
“I found it inside an old sewing box after your mother passed away,” she explained.
“Patricia told me to throw the box away. I couldn't do it.””
“Why didn't you give it to me?””
Margaret lowered her eyes.
“I was afraid I'd lose my job. I had children to support, and Patricia made it clear that anyone who questioned her decisions would be dismissed.””
I felt a mixture of anger and sadness.
“You could have told someone.””
“I know.””
She wiped her eyes.
“I'm sorry, Emma.””
I looked at the USB drive.
“What's on it?””
Margaret shook her head.
“I never watched it. Your mother wrote your name on the envelope. I thought it belonged to you.””
Laura picked up the device.
“We'll make a secure copy before opening it. That way, the original remains preserved.””
She connected it to her computer.
A single video file appeared.
*For My Emma.mp4*
My throat tightened.
Laura looked at me.
“Are you sure you want to watch this now?””
I nodded.
“Yes.””
She pressed play.
For a moment, the screen was black.
Then my mother's face appeared.
I stopped breathing.
She was sitting in front of her sewing machine, wearing a soft gray sweater. Her hair was shorter than I remembered, and she looked thinner than in the photographs.
But she was smiling.
“Hello, my beautiful girl.””
I covered my mouth.
My mother.
After all these years, I could hear her voice again.
“I'm recording this because there are some things I want you to know. I don't know whether you'll watch it when you're sixteen, eighteen, or much older. But whenever you do, I hope you're happy.””
She paused and looked toward something off-camera.
Then she continued.
“First, I want you to know that the sewing machine is yours. The blue box underneath it contains my original patterns. Some are finished designs, and some are just ideas I never had time to complete.””
I smiled through my tears.
“I hope you use them. But please don't feel obligated to follow my path. Your life belongs to you.””
She picked up a small photograph.
It showed her standing outside the Willow Street building.
“This place was my dream. I wanted to turn it into a studio where young people could learn to sew, design, and create without worrying about how much money their families had.””
She smiled.
“I wanted to call it The Rose House.””
My heart ached.
The crimson roses on my dress seemed to move in my imagination.
Then her expression changed.
“There's something else.””
She placed the photograph down.
“Richard has been helping me with some financial arrangements. I trusted him because he was your stepfather and because he promised to protect your future.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
My mother continued.
“Recently, I discovered that some of the documents relating to the studio and the education trust were not being handled as we had agreed.””
Laura leaned closer to the screen.
My mother looked directly into the camera.
“I don't want you to grow up believing that money matters more than love. But I also don't want anyone using your kindness against you.””
She paused.
“If Richard ever tells you that I transferred the studio to him, please ask Laura Bennett to check the original records.””
Laura's eyes widened.
She looked at me.
I couldn't move.
My mother continued.
“The original documents are stored in a locked drawer beneath the worktable in my studio. The key is hidden inside the wooden pincushion I made for you.””
I felt a shiver move down my arms.
The wooden pincushion.
I remembered it.
It had been shaped like a tiny red house.
My mother had given it to me when I was little.
It was still somewhere among my belongings.
Then my mother smiled again.
“Emma, I hope you never have to use this recording. I hope everyone around you treats you with kindness. But if they don't, remember that you have a right to stand up for yourself.””
She leaned closer.
“And one more thing.””
Her voice softened.
“If you ever make something beautiful from something broken, don't let anyone tell you it doesn't belong to you.””
The video ended.
I sat motionless.
Lily reached for my hand.
I squeezed it.
My mother had known.
She had known there might be trouble with the documents, and she'd left instructions to protect me.
Laura paused the video player.
“Emma, do you know where the pincushion is?””
I nodded slowly.
“In my old sewing box.””
“Do you know where the box is now?””
I hesitated.
“It's at the house.””
Margaret suddenly looked up.
“Patricia moved it.””
I turned toward her.
“What?””
“After your mother died, Patricia asked me to clear out some of her belongings. She said she wanted the house to look less cluttered.””
My stomach tightened.
“Where did she put everything?””
Margaret swallowed.
“Some things went into storage. But I remember the wooden pincushion. Patricia kept it.””
Laura stood immediately.
“Where?””
“In her bedroom.””
Vanessa, who had been sitting silently in the corner, suddenly spoke.
“I know where it is.””
Everyone turned toward her.
“It's in Mom's dressing table,” she said.
“The bottom drawer. She keeps old jewelry and things she doesn't use anymore.””
Laura looked at her.
“Are you certain?””
Vanessa nodded.
“I've seen it.””
I stood.
“Then let's go.””
Laura shook her head.
“Not without proper authorization. We can't simply enter a private space and remove property.””
Vanessa looked frustrated.
“It's Emma's property.””
“I understand. But we need to handle this correctly.””
She picked up her phone.
“I'll contact Patricia and request that the items be preserved. If she refuses, we'll discuss the appropriate legal process.””
Before she could make the call, Vanessa's phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
Her expression changed.
“What is it?”” I asked.
She turned the phone toward us.
A message from Patricia.
*Come home immediately. Don't tell anyone where you are.*
Another message appeared.
*I know you gave them the documents. You've already done enough damage.*
Vanessa stared at the screen.
Then she whispered:
“She's going to destroy everything.””
Laura immediately reached for her phone.
“Emma, we need to move quickly.””
She called her office assistant and requested that the relevant documents be secured.
Then she contacted the property registry.
But the next call was the one that made everyone go silent.
The registry official confirmed that a new application had been submitted that morning.
Someone was attempting to register a transfer of the Willow Street property.
Again.
And this time, the application included a newly notarized document.
Laura stood so quickly that her chair rolled backward.
“Who submitted it?””
She listened.
Then her expression turned cold.
“Thank you. Please freeze the application pending verification.””
She ended the call.
I gripped the table.
“What happened?””
Laura looked at me.
“The application was submitted under your name.””
My blood ran cold.
“What?””
“It claims that you voluntarily transferred the property to Hayes Urban Properties.””
I shook my head.
“I never signed anything.””
“I know.””
Vanessa began crying.
“Mom must have done it.””
Laura looked at her.
“Do you have any idea how she could have obtained a document bearing Emma's signature?””
Vanessa hesitated.
Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a folded sheet.
“I found this in her desk too.””
Laura unfolded it.
It was a photocopy of one of my school enrollment forms.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
Someone had circled it in red ink.
Beneath it was a handwritten note:
Use this as a reference.
I felt sick.
They had been collecting my signatures.
Laura immediately placed the document inside a protective folder.
“This is potentially important evidence.””
I stared at the page.
“She was planning this all along.””
Margaret nodded sadly.
“Patricia always said the building should belong to her family.””
I turned toward Vanessa.
“Why didn't you tell me before?””
She looked down.
“Because I wanted Mom to be happy with me. I thought if I helped her, she'd finally stop treating me like I wasn't good enough.””
I stared at her.
For the first time, I understood that Vanessa had spent years trying to compete with me, even though I had never wanted what she had.
But understanding wasn't the same as forgiveness.
I turned toward Laura.
“What happens now?””
She closed the folder.
“We have enough reason to request an immediate legal hold on the property records and preserve all related evidence. We'll also arrange an independent examination of the signatures.””
I nodded.
Then I looked at my mother's frozen image on the computer screen.
Her smile.
Her sewing machine.
The studio she had dreamed of creating.
I suddenly felt something stronger than fear.
Determination.
“I want to see The Rose House.””
Laura looked at me.
“Tomorrow?””
“No.””
I picked up my coat.
“Today.””
Margaret stood.
“I'll come with you.””
Lily grabbed her bag.
“So will I.””
Vanessa remained seated.
Then she slowly stood too.
“Emma?””
I turned.
“Can I come?””
I studied her face.
I remembered her laughter when the paint hit my dress.
I remembered her saying nobody would look at me twice.
Then I remembered her handing Laura the email that had exposed her mother.
“You can come,” I said.
“But this isn't about making things right between us.””
She nodded.
“I understand.””
We left the office together.
An hour later, we stood outside the Willow Street building.
It was a two-story brick structure with tall windows and an old wooden sign above the entrance.
The paint was peeling.
Dust covered the glass.
But sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the empty rooms inside.
I pressed my palm against the front door.
This was my mother's dream.
And now it was mine.
Margaret reached into her handbag and produced a small set of keys.
“Your mother gave me these before she passed away.””
I stared at them.
“You kept them?””
She nodded.
“She told me that one day, her daughter might come looking for a place to begin.””
I took the keys.
The lock turned with a soft click.
The door opened.
Inside, the building smelled of old wood, dust, and forgotten fabric.
A large worktable stood near the back wall.
And beside it sat my mother's sewing machine.
I walked toward it slowly.
Then I noticed something strange.
The wooden pincushion was missing.
I turned toward Margaret.
“Where is it?””
She looked around.
“It was here the last time I visited.””
Vanessa stepped toward the dressing area.
“Mom must have taken it.””
I looked at the empty space beneath the worktable.
Then I noticed a small rectangular mark in the dust.
Something had recently been removed.
Suddenly, Vanessa's phone rang.
She answered.
It was Patricia.
Vanessa put the call on speaker.
“Where are you?”” Patricia demanded.
“I'm with Emma.””
“You need to come home. Right now.””
“Mom, what did you do?””
Silence.
Then Patricia spoke in a low, furious voice.
“You have no idea what you're getting yourself into.””
Vanessa swallowed.
“Where's the pincushion?””
Another silence.
Then Patricia said something that made Laura immediately reach for her phone.
“I burned it.””
My heart stopped.
But Patricia wasn't finished.
“And if you think that was the only thing your mother left behind, you're even more foolish than I thought.””
The call ended.
I stared at the empty worktable.
Laura slowly turned toward the wall behind the sewing machine.
There was a narrow wooden panel, almost hidden behind a curtain.
She stepped closer and examined it.
Then she noticed a small brass keyhole.
My mother had left something else.
Something Patricia apparently hadn't found.
Laura looked at me.
“Emma, I think we've just discovered where your mother kept the original documents.””
I stepped toward the wall.
May you like
And from somewhere inside the hidden compartment came a faint metallic sound.
As if something had just shifted.
