The next few weeks were a blur.
I went to work.
I came home.
I locked the door.
I expected calls.
Screaming voicemails.
But there was nothing.
Silence.
It hurt.
It confirmed everything.
I was only valuable when I was giving.
When I said no, I ceased to exist for them.
About a month later, I was in a grocery store.
I turned the aisle and bumped into my cousin Sarah.
Sarah was close with Elina.
She looked surprised to see me.
She looked awkward.
“Oh, hi, Isabella,” she said.
She shifted her basket.
“We… we haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been busy,” I said.
“Yeah,” Sarah said.
She looked around, then leaned in.
“Look, I know things are tense, but it’s cool of you to help Elina anyway. She’s been bragging about it.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
“The boutique,” Sarah said. “She said you guys had a fight, but you came through. She said you’re backing her. She’s signing the lease next week.”
I dropped my basket.
A jar of pasta sauce shattered on the floor.
Red sauce splattered everywhere, looking like blood.
“I didn’t back her,” I whispered.
“Oh.”
Sarah looked confused.
“But she said… she said the funding is secured. Under your name.”
I left the mess on the floor.
I ran to my car.
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely put the key in the ignition.
I drove straight to the bank.
I sat in the parking lot and pulled up my accounts on my phone.
My checking account looked normal.
My savings account looked normal.
I called the credit bureau.
I navigated the automated menus, my heart pounding in my throat.
Verify recent inquiries.
There it was.
Three inquiries in the last week.
Two business loans.
One massive line of credit.
All approved.
They had not just asked for the money.
When I said no, they took it.
They used my Social Security number.
They used my old address.
They used my name.
My mother.
My sister.
They were criminals.
And I was the victim.
I felt like throwing up.
I opened the car door and dry heaved onto the pavement.
This was not just family drama anymore.
This was a felony.
I needed to be sure.
I needed proof before I did what I knew I had to do.
I could not call Mom.
She would lie.
I could not call Elina.
She would laugh.
I called Dad.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hello.”
His voice sounded small.
“Dad,” I said. “Meet me. Please don’t tell them. Just meet me.”
He hesitated.
“Isabella, your mother is very upset.”
“Dad, please.”
He met me at a diner halfway between our houses.
He looked ten years older than the last time I saw him.
His shoulders were slumped.
He wore a stained polo shirt.
I did not order food.
I just ordered black coffee.
“Dad,” I said.
I kept my voice low.
“Sarah told me Elina is opening the boutique. She said the funding is in my name.”
Dad looked down at his coffee cup.
He would not meet my eyes.
His hands were trembling.
“Dad,” I said sharper. “Look at me.”
He looked up.
His eyes were watery.
“Did they use my name?” I asked.
He nodded a tiny, pathetic nod.
“How?” I asked. “They need signatures. They need ID.”
“Your mother…”
Dad swallowed hard.
“Your mother has your old birth certificate. And she… she practiced your signature from your old birthday cards.”
I stared at him.
My mother sat at the kitchen table practicing my signature so she could steal from me.
“And you knew?” I asked.
“I told her not to,” he whispered. “I said it was wrong. I said you would be angry.”
“Angry?”
I laughed.
It was a sharp, jagged sound.
“Dad, this isn’t about being angry. This is fraud. This is prison time.”
Dad flinched.
“No, no, Isabella, don’t say that. It’s family. We just need a little time. The business will make money, and we will pay the loans off before you even notice. Mom has a plan.”
“Mom has a plan to ruin me,” I said. “And you watched her do it.”
“I couldn’t stop her,” he said. “You know how she is. She does what she wants for Elina.”
“And what about me?” I asked.
My voice broke.
“What about me, Dad? Am I not your daughter too? Why didn’t you protect me?”