The debt

“Mom, please don’t leave!” I scream, clutching her legs as tightly as I can, trying to keep her from walking out the door. My fingers dig into the fabric of her pants, desperate, trembling.

She doesn’t even try to comfort me.

She just looks down at me, her eyes cold, filled with something that looks too much like hatred, before pulling herself free. Without another word, she turns and walks out, the door slamming shut behind her.

“PLEASE! DON’T GO, PLEASE—!”

“…Please.”

I bolt upright, drenched in sweat, my chest heaving as I struggle to catch my breath. My room is dark and quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the ceiling fan above me. I press a hand to my face, dragging it down slowly.

It was just a nightmare.

Or more like a memory.

The memory of that awful day.

“Ugh…” I groan, throwing the blankets off my body. My skin feels sticky, my heart still racing. I glance at the clock on my nightstand

5:00 a.m.

Great. Just what I needed.

I have work in an hour, so I force myself out of bed and head straight to the shower. The cold water helps a little, washing away the sweat, but it doesn’t do much for the heaviness sitting in my chest.

Thanks to my dear old father, I have to work three jobs just to pay off his stupid debt, which, by the way, shouldn’t even be my problem. But of course, my heart has this ridiculous soft spot for my good for nothing father.

Pathetic, right?

Once I finish getting ready, I step into the living room, half expecting to find him passed out on the couch like usual. But he’s not there.

Which probably means he’s passed out in some random bar instead.

I roll my eyes. Figures.

I don’t have time to deal with that right now. I grab my bag, head out the door, and hurry toward the bus stop, the early morning air still cool against my skin.

“Hey, Ray!”

Ray is the bartender at The Clearing, one of the restaurants I work at. Out of everyone here, he’s the closest thing I have to a friend. Don’t get me wrong everyone’s super nice, but they’re all a bit older than us, so we don’t really have much in common.

“Hey, Sera. How are you today?” he asks, flashing me a small, polite smile.

It’s the same question he asks me every day.

And, like always, I give the same answer.

“I’m great. How about you?”

Living the dream,” Ray says with a quiet chuckle, already turning back to wipe down the counter. “You’re early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” I mutter, tying my apron around my waist.

He glances at me for a second longer than usual, like he’s trying to read between the lines, but thankfully doesn’t push. That’s one of the reasons I like him, he knows when to mind his business.

The Clearing is still mostly empty this early in the morning. A couple of regulars sit scattered around, nursing coffee like it’s the only thing keeping them alive. The soft hum of the espresso machine fills the silence, along with the faint clinking of dishes from the kitchen.

I grab a notepad and start setting up my section, trying to ignore the lingering weight of the dream. Of the memory.

It’s fine. I’m fine.

I’ve learned how to function like this.

“Table three’s yours,” Ray calls out.

I nod and make my way over, forcing a polite smile onto my face. “Good morning, what can I get for you?”

The routine is easy. Automatic. Orders, refills, checks, repeat. It keeps my mind busy, keeps me from thinking too much.

By the time the morning rush starts to die down, my feet are already killing me, and I’ve only just begun my day.

“Hey,” Ray says, leaning slightly over the counter as I pass by. “You sure you’re okay? You look… off.”

I hesitate for half a second.

Too long.

“I said I’m fine,” I reply, a little sharper than I meant to.

His hands go up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Just asking.”

Guilt flickers in my chest, but I shove it down. I don’t have the energy to deal with feelings right now.

As I turn to grab a tray, the bell above the entrance door chimes.

I don’t think much of it at first, just another customer.

But then the atmosphere shifts.

It’s subtle, but noticeable. Conversations quiet just a little. One of the regulars straightens in his seat. Even Ray pauses for a second before continuing what he was doing.

Weird.

I glance toward the door and freeze.

Three men walk in.

They don’t look like they belong here.

Too sharp. Too put-together. Like they walked straight out of a different world and into this one. The man in the center is the one that stands out the most.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark clothes that probably cost more than my rent. His expression is calm, unreadable… but there’s something about him that immediately puts me on edge.

Like danger wrapped in composure.

His eyes sweep across the room once, slow, deliberate and for a split second, they land on me.

My stomach drops.

Then he looks away, like I’m nothing.

Good.

I don’t need attention from guys like that.

“Table seven,” Ray mutters under his breath, nodding toward them. “And… good luck.”

I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He just shakes his head slightly. “Just… be careful, yeah?”

That’s not ominous at all.

I grab my notepad, steadying myself, and make my way over anyway. A job’s a job.

“Welcome to The Clearing,” I say, keeping my voice even despite the strange tension curling in my chest. “What can I get for you?”

Up close, he’s worse.

There’s something cold about him. Controlled. Like every movement is calculated, every glance intentional.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he looks at me.

Really looks at me.

And for a brief, uncomfortable moment, it feels like he sees more than he should.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“I’m looking for someone.”

His voice is low, smooth… dangerous.

My grip tightens slightly around my notepad. “You’ll have to be more specific. We get a lot of people here.”

A faint, almost amused expression touches his face.

“Antonio Lopez.”

My heart stops.

For a second, I forget how to breathe.

That name.

My father.

Slowly, I lift my gaze back to his, something colder settling into my chest.

“…Why?”