Chapter 1

On Father's Day, I drove to my father' s studio apartment with a gift in my hand and a hope in my heart. The gift box felt heavy, not because of the expensive Scotch inside, but because of the fragile relationship it represented. I was an architect, I built strong, permanent things for a living, but the connection with my own father felt like it was made of glass.

The main reason for my visit, however, was not the gift. It was to retrieve my mother' s watch. It was a vintage piece, simple and elegant, and it was the last thing she left me before she died. My father had asked to keep it for a while, saying it reminded him of her. I agreed, thinking it might bring him some comfort. But it had been six months, and I wanted it back. It belonged with me.

I parked my car and pulled out my phone, ready to call him and let him know I was downstairs. Before I could dial, my phone rang. The name on the screen was "Brenda." My father' s new live-in girlfriend. I hesitated for a moment before answering.

"Olivia, what do you want?"

Her voice was sharp and accusatory, completely skipping any greeting. I was taken aback.

"Brenda? I'm downstairs. I came to see Dad for Father's Day."

"He doesn't want to see you," she snapped. "And I know why you're really here. You want that watch."

My grip on my phone tightened. "The watch was my mother's. It's a family heirloom."

"It's my watch now!" she shrieked through the phone. "Your father gave it to me. He said I've taken such good care of him, much better than his own daughter ever did. It' s mine as payment for my service!"

I felt a surge of anger. "That's ridiculous. It's not his to give away. I'm coming up to get it."

"You take one step in this building and I'm calling the police for trespassing!" she screamed, then hung up.

I stood there on the sidewalk, stunned and furious. I immediately called my father. He picked up on the fifth ring, his voice sounding distant and weak.

"Olivia? What's going on? Brenda is very upset."

"Dad, what is she talking about? Why is she saying Mom's watch is hers?"

He sighed, a long, weary sound that I knew all too well. It was the sound of him avoiding a problem. "Olivia, calm down. Brenda... she likes the watch very much. She's been a great help to me."

"It doesn't matter if she likes it, Dad. It was Mom's. It belongs to me. Are you going to let her steal from your own daughter?"

There was a long pause. I could hear Brenda's voice yelling in the background.

"Just... not today, Olivia," he finally said. "Let's not fight on Father's Day. Maybe you can come back another time."

He hung up before I could say another word. The line went dead, and so did the last bit of hope I had for a peaceful day. The gift in my hand suddenly felt stupid. I left it on the curb and drove away.

The humiliation didn't end there. A few days later, I was at my daughter Lily' s elementary school for a parent-teacher art fair. Lily was so proud, her little painting of a sun and a rainbow was hanging on the wall for everyone to see. My husband, Mark, was holding my hand, and for a moment, I felt a sense of peace.

Then I saw them.

Brenda and her son, Chad, were standing near the entrance, scanning the crowd. Chad was a man in his late twenties with a permanently sullen look on his face. When Brenda spotted me, she pointed, and they marched over.

"There she is!" Brenda's voice cut through the cheerful chatter of the school gymnasium. "There's the ungrateful daughter who wants to steal from her poor, sick father!"

Heads turned. Parents and teachers stared. My face burned with shame. Lily, who had been happily showing her drawing to a friend, froze and looked at me with wide, scared eyes.

"Brenda, this is not the time or the place," I said, my voice low and shaking with rage.

"Oh, you don't get to decide that!" she yelled, stepping closer. Chad stood behind her, a smirk on his face, his arms crossed. "You come to our home, you try to take things, you upset your father, and now you think you can just hide out at your kid's school?"

She turned to the growing crowd of parents. "This woman, Olivia Vance, a successful architect, she wants to take the last gift her father ever gave me. He' s a struggling artist, all alone, and I' m the only one who takes care of him! And this is how she repays me! By trying to steal from me!"

Her voice was filled with fake tears, her hand on her chest as if she were about to faint. She was putting on a performance, and the other parents were her captive audience. The whispers started, and I could feel their judging eyes on me.