“Sounds like a poem about your dad. It’s like I said, she was so afraid of him. That’s why I tried to do everything in my power to save Millie. It’s why I went along with her plan.” Her gaze bounced to Amelia who nodded as if she was eating this up.

“This poem isn’t about my dad. It’s about you.” Lauren couldn’t help the grin that emerged on her face. “Peeling off my skin, she wears it like a dress. Dipping her toes into the waters of my life, she slips under, claiming it all as her own.”

Whitney’s jaw slackened. After a second, she forced it to close as if needing time to regain composure. She licked her lips, crossed her arms. A breath whistled through her nostrils. “I don’t really even get it. It sounds made up. Just a jumble of words. Millie was like that. Dark just for the sake of being that way.”

“I write dark poetry,” Amelia interjected. “And it’s like that. You know, symbolism. Metaphors. It’s not literal.” Her lips curled slightly at the corners. “I guess in that way we’re alike, huh?”

Lauren shook her head. “Sure, my mom’s poetry is lyrical. Symbolic. But it’s rooted in truth. You didn’t just want to be close to my mom, did you? You wanted to be her. You wanted her life.”

Whitney blew out an exasperated breath, ran a hand over her head. “You don’t know anything about our relationship.”

“I know that the stories you told us today are in this diary,” Lauren said. “And most of them read a little differently.”

“I’m not surprised. Like I said, Millie and I often saw things differently.”

“From what I read in here, you were pretty obsessed with her.”

Whitney’s eyes flashed. “Your mom had an inflated ego. She thought everyone was obsessed with her.”

“Were you in love with my mother?” Lauren’s lips curled upward, her brows raising. The flush in Whitney’s cheeks told her she’d hit a nerve.

“Were you, Mom?” Amelia’s eyes widened as if she was seeing a side of her mom she’d never been aware of. If Lauren didn’t know better, she’d think Amelia was kind of hopeful. Lauren was mostly just saying all this to get under Whitney’s skin. Ruffle some feathers. But, perhaps, there was some truth to it. A missing piece of the puzzle. One Amelia apparently wanted solved.

Whitney didn’t seem to appreciate it, though. If looks could kill Lauren was sure she’d drop dead. “Millie was my best friend. Nothing more,” Whitney said, throwing her hand out as if a ball had been lobbed in her direction. “This is exactly why you should give me the journal. It’s personal and it’s about a history you weren’t involved in.”