Chapter 1
Chapter 1
The Night We Were Thrown Out
The night my father threw us out, it was raining so hard I could barely hear myself think.
I remember that because I had been sitting at the dining table doing something completely ordinary.
Calculating how much money I had left.
Thirty-seven dollars.
That was it.
I had been trying to convince myself it was enough to buy groceries for the week when my father walked into the room and said—
“Pack your things.”
I looked up.
For a second, I actually laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because I thought I had heard him wrong.
“What?”
My father didn't sit down.
He stood at the entrance of the dining room with his arms crossed, his face colder than I had ever seen it.
“Pack your things, Amara.”
My mother appeared behind him.
Her face was pale.
“Victor…”
He didn't look at her.
And that was when the strange feeling in my stomach started.
Something was wrong.
Really wrong.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
He finally looked at me.
“You're leaving.”
My heart stopped.
“Me?”
His jaw tightened.
“You and your mother.”
I stared at him.
Then at my mother.
She looked like someone had just taken the ground out from underneath her.
“Dad, what did we do?”
“Don't make this harder than it has to be.”
“I don't understand.”
“You don't need to understand.”
My mother's voice finally broke through.
“Victor, please.”
He turned toward her.
“Enough.”
Just one word.
But my mother went silent.
I'd never seen my father speak to her like that.
I'd never seen him look at her like she was a stranger.
I pushed my chair backward.
“This is a joke, right?”
Nobody answered.
“Dad?”
Nothing.
I stood.
“Dad, where are we supposed to go?”
His expression didn't change.
“You'll figure it out.”
Those four words stayed with me.
You’ll figure it out.
As if eighteen years of being his daughter could be packed into two suitcases and carried through the front door.
I ran upstairs.
My hands were shaking so badly that I dropped my phone twice while trying to unlock it.
I pulled an old suitcase from the back of my closet and started throwing clothes into it.
I didn't fold anything.
I didn't even know what I was packing.
A hoodie.
Three shirts.
Jeans.
Underwear.
My charger.
A pair of sneakers.
The framed photograph of my parents from their wedding.
I stopped when I saw it.
My father was smiling in that picture.
Really smiling.
His arm was around my mother's waist.
She was looking at him like he was the only person in the world.
I almost put it back.
Instead, I shoved it into the suitcase.
My mother appeared in the doorway.
She was holding a small bag.
Her eyes were red.
“Mom…”
She shook her head.
“Don't.”
“Why is Dad doing this?”
She looked away.
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
Her eyes snapped back to mine.
I had never said that to her before.
She swallowed.
“Amara, we need to leave.”
“But why?”
She stepped closer and touched my cheek.
Her hand was cold.
“Because tonight, your father doesn't want us here.”
The words hurt more than I expected.
I zipped my suitcase.
We walked downstairs together.
My father was standing by the front door.
He didn't help us.
He didn't apologize.
He didn't even look at the suitcase in my hand.
My mother stopped beside him.
“Victor.”
He said nothing.
“After everything…”
“Don't.”
She stared at him for several seconds.
Then she nodded.
Something in her face changed.
It wasn't anger.
It was disappointment.
The kind that comes after you've finally stopped hoping someone will become the person you needed them to be.
She opened the door.
Cold rain rushed into the house.
I stepped outside.
Then I turned around.
I looked at the house I'd grown up in.
The staircase where I used to race my father when I was little.
The living room where my mother decorated the Christmas tree every year.
The kitchen where my father used to steal food from the pot and pretend he hadn't.
Everything was still there.
Except us.
My father stood in the doorway.
For one ridiculous second, I waited for him to stop us.
To say he had changed his mind.
To say he was sorry.
He didn't.
He simply closed the door.
The lock clicked.
And that was it.
My mother and I stood beneath the rain with two suitcases and nowhere to go.
I wiped my face.
I couldn't tell whether the water on my cheeks was rain or tears.
“Mom?”
She looked at me.
“What are we going to do?”
She forced a smile.
“We'll be okay.”
I wanted to believe her.
I really did.
But as we walked down the street, I looked back at the house one last time.
A light was still burning in my father's study.
And just before we disappeared around the corner, I saw someone standing behind the window.
Watching us leave.
My father.
He didn't look angry anymore.
He looked scared.
I didn't understand why.
Not then.
But months later, when my father came back into my life asking me for a favor, I finally understood.
He hadn't thrown us away because he didn't need us anymore.
He had thrown us away because he was hiding something.
And whatever it was…
It was about to destroy everything.
