Chapter 2 - The Apartment Wasn't Empty
The problem wasn't who had a key. It was what they thought the key was for.
I left the pool.
I didn't even remember walking back to my room.
The hotel hallway seemed too bright.
My hands were shaking as I unlocked my door and stepped inside.
“What happened?” I asked.
My building manager, Mr. Alvarez, was still on the phone.
“We had a maintenance issue on the third floor yesterday.”
“Okay.”
“A pipe leaked near the electrical closet.”
My chest tightened.
“Was my apartment affected?”
“No. That's not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
He took a breath.
“Your mother called the office yesterday morning.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Why?”
“She said you had given her permission to access your apartment while you were traveling.”
“I did not.”
“I know that now.”
“Who else did she name?”
“Your brother.”
I closed my eyes.
“Jason?”
“Yes.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That you had asked him to pick up something from your apartment.”
“What something?”
“A folder.”
“What folder?”
He hesitated.
“She said it contained work materials.”
I stared at the wall.
That made no sense.
I didn't keep client documents in paper folders.
Almost everything I needed was encrypted and stored digitally.
“Did you let them in?”
“No.”
I exhaled.
“Thank God.”
“But your mother was very convincing.”
“What does that mean?”
“She knew details.”
My blood ran cold.
“What kind of details?”
“Your unit number. Your floor. Your emergency contact information. She knew you were leaving on the twenty-second.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
“How?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you tell her?”
“No.”
I stood up.
“Did she have anything from my account?”
“I'm not sure.”
The room suddenly felt too small.
For years, my mother had treated my life as communal property.
My schedule.
My weekends.
My apartment.
My work.
My time.
But I had never thought she'd been keeping track of everything.
Until now.
I thanked Mr. Alvarez and hung up.
Then I opened my banking app.
Nothing.
Email.
Nothing.
Cloud storage.
Nothing.
Calendar.
Nothing.
I checked my password manager.
Everything looked normal.
Then my phone buzzed.
Jason.
I answered.
“What's going on?”
He sighed.
“Mom told you?”
“She said you were trying to get into my apartment.”
“We weren't.”
“You were outside my building with a crib and three suitcases.”
“That part happened.”
“So what exactly was the plan?”
Silence.
“Jason?”
“We thought you'd changed your mind.”
“You thought?”
“Mom said you were upset because you felt taken for granted.”
“I was.”
“She said you'd cool down.”
I laughed once.
“You don't change a person's mind about Christmas childcare by driving three children to their locked apartment.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because…”
He stopped.
“Because what?”
“Stephanie's mother canceled.”
I waited.
“She was supposed to take them.”
“Okay.”
“Then the backup sitter canceled.”
“Okay.”
“And our cabin reservation was already paid.”
“That still doesn't explain why you came to my apartment.”
Jason sounded defeated.
“Mom said you wouldn't really leave.”
I stared at the ceiling.
There it was.
The sentence my mother had built our entire family around.
Riley will handle it.
Riley will be home.
Riley will say yes eventually.
Riley always comes through.
Even when Riley says no.
I asked quietly, “Jason, did you know I was going to Nassau?”
“No.”
“Did Mom?”
“I don't know.”
I looked toward the window.
The Bahamas sun was shining through the curtains.
“Did you tell her anything about my travel plans?”
“No.”
“Did Stephanie?”
“No.”
He paused.
Then said, “Riley…”
“What?”
“There’s something you should know.”
His voice changed.
That frightened me more than anything else.
“What?”
“Mom didn't just tell us you'd babysit.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She told us…”
He swallowed.
“She told us you'd already agreed to be the kids' emergency contact.”
I stared at my phone.
“What?”
“For school.”
“What school?”
“Their pediatrician. Their daycare. Their preschool.”
“Jason, I've never signed anything.”
“I know.”
“Then who did?”
“We assumed you did.”
“I didn't.”
Another silence.
Then he said, “Riley, Mom has copies of some of your information.”
“What information?”
“I don't know.”
“What copies?”
“I really don't know.”
My heart was beating too fast.
I walked to the desk in my hotel room and opened my laptop.
I logged into my business account.
Then my personal email.
Then my document storage.
I searched my name.
Nothing.
I searched “emergency.”
Nothing.
I searched “guardian.”
Nothing.
Then I remembered something.
Three months earlier, Mom had asked me for a copy of my driver's license.
She said she needed it for “family paperwork.”
I had sent it.
I hadn't thought about it again.
Until now.
I opened the old message.
There it was.
The attachment.
My driver's license.
And below it was my mother's reply.
Perfect. That solves one thing.
I had assumed she meant insurance.
Maybe she didn't.
I was still staring at the screen when another message came through.
This one was from Stephanie.
Please don't be angry with Jason. He honestly thought you agreed.
A second message followed.
Mom told us she had written consent from you.
My fingers went cold.
I typed back.
Written consent for what?
Stephanie didn't answer.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
Then my phone buzzed.
A photo.
A document.
At the top was my full name.
Underneath it was a sentence:
Emergency Childcare Authorization.
And at the bottom was a signature.
May you like
My signature.
Except I had never signed it.
