Chapter 4
“I’m going to do better, Shan,” Carol sighed. “I promise—I’m for real this time.”
“Ma, you’ve said that before. You can’t just expect me to believe you. You have to prove it. You know that.”
I crossed my arms tightly, struggling to keep my voice from trembling with anger. “Those beautiful kids upstairs that you say you love? They desperately need you. And you don’t want them to grow up burdened with the painful memories I have of you. They might not be as forgiving as I am. Ma, if you truly take care of your kids, pour your heart into them, genuinely love them—they’ll be there for you. That’s the real reward.”
“Look at you, schooling me. It should be the other way around.” She gave a sad smile. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the best mother to you. I was just a child myself.”
“Listen, Ma, enough is enough. We don’t need to rehash the past at this time. What truly matters is that you pull yourself together and start taking responsibility for your kids. I’m not their mother, and it’s downright unfair that I’m left to shoulder the burden of raising them. So yes, I need you to get your act together, and I need it now.”
I hadn’t yelled at my mother in a long time. But tonight, I had to. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I was tired. And she needed to hear it.
As I stomped upstairs, I hoped I hadn’t woken the kids. Our mess shouldn’t spill over into their innocence. Frustrated by everything—my thoughts, my feelings—I ended the night early, curling into bed before 9 p.m.
The next morning, I woke to the jarring sight of my mother standing silently at the foot of my bed, watching me sleep.
My heart jolted. “Ma, how long have you been standing there?” I mumbled, squinting into the soft morning light filtering through the window. I hadn’t expected my first sight to be her, poised like a guardian, or maybe a ghost, hovering at the edge of sleep and reality.
Confusion swept through me. Her presence was both familiar and unsettling. She looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read—part affection, part worry, part... something else. The room felt thick with silence, weighted by years of unspoken things.
I pushed up on one elbow, the sheets falling around me as I tried to get a better look at her face.
“Just a few minutes,” she said, voice soft, threaded with something delicate—maybe fear, or a rare vulnerability. She didn’t look away. Just watched me, like she was trying to figure out who I was now... or who she still might be.
As I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and tried to gather my thoughts, the weight of the previous day came rushing back—a swirl of emotions pressing down on me. The chaos of our past interactions still lingered, casting a fragile haze over the present moment.
It wasn’t unusual for her to watch me while I slept—comforting, even—but today felt different.
I broke the silence. “What’s up, Ma?” I asked, keeping my tone light despite the tension hanging in the air.
She hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully, then finally spoke.
“I just wanted to check on you,” she said, her voice as gentle as morning sunshine. “You’ve been through a lot lately, and I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Her concern felt both reassuring and disarming—a flicker of connection in the middle of all our complications. I could tell she was trying to reach out, trying to mend the quiet distance that had grown between us.
“Yeah, I’m good, Ma,” I said, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. “Just a little tired, you know?”
She nodded slowly, understanding flickering in her eyes. Her being there, just watching me, could be the beginning of something new. It wouldn’t erase the past or fix everything overnight, but it could be the first step toward rebuilding what we’d lost.
For the first time in a long time, it felt like we could talk—like we were two people trying to understand each other, not just mother and child locked in years of silence.
As the tension in the room eased, I felt the air shift. Healing wasn’t guaranteed, but the possibility lingered. Perhaps we could find a way to move forward together.
“I’ve been waiting for you to get up all morning! You sleep the whole damn day away!” Carol shouted.
“Ma, don’t be dramatic.” I glanced at the clock on my nightstand before saying another word. “It’s only noon. Damn. What could you possibly need so bad that you’re standing over me like this?”
“I need you to watch the kids for a couple of hours. I have to make a run,” Carol said, pacing back and forth in a sweatsuit, no makeup, and a nearly burned-out cigarette dangling between her fingers.
“Ma, what’s wrong? Why do you look so discombobulated?”
“Can you watch the kids or not? Damn, girl, just answer the question.”
“How long is ‘a couple of hours,’ Ma?”
“A couple of hours. Damn! I’ll be back by 3 p.m. at the latest.”
“Don’t let it turn into the whole damn day!” I sighed, already knowing she wouldn’t keep her word.
She left before I could say goodbye—or even ask where she was going.
I decided to make the most of the day and headed into the kitchen. But the moment I stepped in, my heart dropped. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in days—a chaotic mess of dirty dishes and clutter everywhere.
I was starving, but there was no way I was going to cook in a kitchen that looked like a disaster zone. I couldn’t think straight in that mess.
As I moved further in, something on the table caught my eye—mail scattered across the surface. One envelope stood out like a sore thumb.
“Eviction Notice.”
The words screamed at me in bold, red letters.
My stomach dropped. The air seemed to vanish from the room as I stood frozen.
Any motivation I had to clean was gone. Now, all my focus was fixed on that single, terrifying piece of paper.
Heart pounding, I picked it up with trembling hands, the weight of the situation settling heavily on my shoulders.
I tore open the envelope, eyes darting over the words that triggered a rising wave of panic. It was an eviction notice—cold, clinical, and brutal. Dates. Amounts owed. A directive to vacate. It all felt like a ticking time bomb.
My mind spiraled. How could this be happening? The thought of losing our home sent a shiver down my spine, and a thousand questions crashed into one another in my head.
“Fuck! What did Carol get us into now?”
After rereading the notice, the reality hit hard: we were three months behind on rent. Thirty days. That’s all we had left unless we came up with the full payment.
Anger started to bubble. Not just at the notice, but at my mother. How had she kept this from me? Why hadn’t she said anything? The kitchen—once a space I’d tried so hard to make productive—now felt like a war zone, littered with quiet evidence of our unraveling.
I took a deep breath, trying to regain control over my emotions. Now wasn’t the time to panic. I needed a plan.
I sat at the table and gathered my thoughts. Frustration wouldn’t help. I couldn’t afford to waste time. I wouldn’t let this moment define us—no way. I’d come too far to crumble now.
First step: call the landlord. Ask questions. Get the facts. There may be some wiggle room, a payment plan, or an alternative option. I had to believe there was an option. But before anything else, I needed to take back control over the one thing I could manage: my space.
I stood up and began cleaning the kitchen. One plate at a time, one crumb at a time, trying to wash the dread away with each motion. The weight of that notice still lingered, but at least I was doing something.
Could that be why she rushed out this morning?
This isn’t good.
But then, where the hell is the money I’ve been giving her all this time for rent?
What the hell?
It was 9 p.m. when I watched Carol walk through the door—and to my surprise, she wasn’t drunk. That was new. By this time of night, she’d usually stumble in, the smell of alcohol clinging to her like a second skin.
But tonight, she seemed… composed. Her steps were steady as she crossed the threshold, and I furrowed my brow, unsure how to process this unexpected shift.
Was it a sign of change? A fleeting glimpse of a different version of her? My heart fluttered with cautious hope.
Carol had been through so much, and moments of clarity in her chaotic world were rare. Maybe she’d decided to ease off the bottle. Or maybe something-or someone—had made her pause and reconsider.
“Hey,” I said cautiously, keeping my voice neutral as I gauged her response.
She turned to me, her expression unreadable. Still, there was a flicker in her eyes—not dulled by liquor, but shimmering with something… softer. Vulnerable.
“Hey,” she replied softly, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. The posture was almost sheepish, as if she were stepping into unfamiliar territory, unsure of the ground beneath her.
I leaned back slightly, intrigued but guarded, ready to follow wherever this was heading.
“How was your day?”
She paused for a heartbeat, scanning the room with a newfound clarity that made me wonder what was shifting inside her.
“It was… okay, I guess. Just trying to figure some things out.”
“Things?” I asked gently, nudging her to share without pressing too hard. If she was willing to open up, I wanted to meet her where she was.
Carol sighed, her gaze falling to the floor as if the carpet might spell out an answer.
“Yeah, just… everything. I don’t want to keep going like this.”
There it was—something stirring. A quiet signal that maybe, just maybe, she was ready to make a change. I felt a flicker of hope. This could be the start of something new, a moment where she reclaimed the pieces of herself she’d been losing.
“Where do you want to start?” I asked softly, holding up the eviction notice—my way of bridging the gap between where she’d been and where she might be heading.
In that stillness, it struck me: sometimes change doesn’t roar in. It arrives like this—soft, unsure, and asking only that we be ready to meet it when it comes.
“I have it under control. Matter of fact, you’re part of the plan.”
“Ma, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m taking you somewhere tomorrow, baby. We’ll talk about everything then, okay? I promise, everything’s going to be alright. Now go on to bed and get some rest.”
It was 7 a.m. the next morning—earlier than I’d ever been dressed and out the door.
Evie said she’d be fine getting to school, catching a ride with her best friend Jessica’s dad. We’d already dropped the boys off at Gran’s earlier that morning.
I was nervous about this whole situation—my gut screaming it was a bad idea. I wanted more details, a clearer picture of what we were stepping into. But what choice did I have except to trust her? The stakes were too high. We couldn’t afford to lose the house. It was more than a roof over our heads; it was our stability, our foundation—the last thing tethering us to a sense of normalcy in our chaotic lives.
As we drove up I-95, halfway out of Baltimore and heading toward D.C., the familiar landmarks of Laurel and Bowie blurred past the windows. With every mile, a growing sense of unease settled within me. My anxiety built like a pressure cooker, tightening my chest under the weight of every possible outcome. The hum of the road only amplified my thoughts—a constant reminder that we were in it now, with no way to turn back.
I glanced over at Carol, her hands gripping the wheel with a determination that matched the complex set of her jaw. She looked focused, but the tension in the car was unmistakable. I knew she felt it too.
“You okay?” I asked—more for my reassurance than hers. I needed to know we were aligned, even if neither of us could say exactly where we were headed.
“Yeah, just thinking,” she said, her voice steady but missing its usual conviction. “We’ll figure this out.”
Her words landed somewhere between comforting and hollow. I wanted to believe her, but the tight current of anxiety running through me whispered otherwise. My mind spun with every possible outcome. What if this didn’t work? What if we made things worse?
I wanted to say something, to lay it all out—but I bit my tongue. Now wasn’t the time for doubt.
The tires hummed steadily beneath us, a hypnotic rhythm pushing us forward. Whatever waited ahead, we’d need to face it together—and stay sharp.
As we continued our journey south, I made a silent promise: I would do everything in my power to protect our home and face this challenge with resilience and strength. With that mindset, I tried to quiet the storm of doubts and trust that we’d make it through.
Our future hung in the balance, and we could find a way forward together. Determined, I settled deeper into my seat, bracing myself for whatever awaited us at the end of the road.
“Ma, is there anything you can tell me? I get anxious about this,” I asked, hoping she’d budge and tell me everything.
“We’re meeting my friend, Mr. Edward. He’ll be able to explain everything better than I ever could.”
Of course, it’s a man we’re meeting, was the first thought that popped into my head.
“Are you sure we can trust him? How well do you even know him?”
“Shan, relax. Don’t get me all worked up with all those damn questions. Everything’s going to be fine. Don’t you trust me? I’m your mother. When have I ever steered you wrong?”
Is she serious? I can’t believe her. When has she ever not steered me wrong? How about all the damn time!
But I let it go. I didn’t feel like arguing at this early hour.
I closed my eyes for the rest of the drive. When I woke up, we had already arrived.
We pulled up to a row home on Euclid Avenue, near Howard University—my mom’s alma mater. She went to Howard Law but never passed the bar exam. Gran never forgave her for that. She had worked night and day to pay for Mom’s tuition, so I couldn’t blame her for being angry. It’s not like Mom couldn’t pass—she just never tried. She didn’t study. Didn’t take it seriously. Too busy chasing men and partying. She only graduated because she paid people to do her assignments.
The row home looked decent—a three-bedroom house. But the porch was bare. No flowers, no chairs.
“Okay, we’re here! You ready?” I could hear the excitement in her voice.
“Yes, I’m glad. Just let me refresh my lipstick.”
The red lip popped against my all-black pantsuit from Saks, paired with my black patent leather pumps. With my fresh pin curls, I was all set for this business meeting.
Mr. Edward greeted us at the door after just one knock, as if he’d been waiting there the whole time. I was struck by his tall, handsome frame and the gray flecks in his hair—he had to be in his late forties, maybe early fifties. He wore gray slacks and a fitted black polo that accentuated his build and conveyed a quiet confidence. His thick-lensed glasses made him look nearly blind without them. There was something charmingly nerdy about him, but also a calm swag that said he was perfectly comfortable in his skin.
As I stepped into the house, I looked around, letting curiosity lead. It was neat and tastefully decorated, but lacking warmth. No pictures of a wife or kids. No family mementos. Nothing personal. The silence in the house wasn’t loud, but it was noticeable—like something was missing. It made me uneasy. And curious.
“Hey Eddie, how are you? Thanks for inviting us over,” Carol said, grinning. “This is my oldest daughter, Shannon.”
Smiling at him, I asked, “Do you live here alone?”
“Come in, come in,” Mr. Edward said, his voice warm and inviting, cutting through the quiet as he stepped aside to let us in. I exchanged a glance with Carol. We both hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.
The house exuded understated elegance, its furnishings carefully chosen, everything in its place—a reflection of his meticulous nature.
As I followed him farther inside, curiosity mixed with suspicion churned within me. What hid beneath the surface of this polished life? What stories lurked behind those oversized glasses and refined smile? And why was there no hint of family warmth in this perfectly arranged space?
I knew we were here for business, but something about this visit felt… off. Like we were stepping into a narrative not yet told.
Carol frowned at me. “Shannon, don’t be rude. That’s none of your business.”
“I’m sorry. Nice to meet you, Mr. Edward.”
“It’s okay,” he replied, smiling. “You two could be sisters—both so gorgeous.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“Let’s get down to business. Come, have a seat,” he said, leading us to his office, a room just off the kitchen.
Carol and I settled into the living room, tension hanging in the air. I braced myself for whatever was about to come. The lack of personal history in this home hinted at a life filled with untold stories. I couldn’t help but wonder what truths would unravel during this meeting.
“So, let’s begin, Shan,” he said. “Your mother told me you work at First Union Federal Bank and Savings, correct?”
“Uh, yes, I do. Why?”
He ignored my question. “Do you have access to the new bank cards they’re issuing?”
“Yes…”
“How many can you access at a time?”
“Uhm, I don’t know... maybe a couple hundred or so. Why?”
“Well, I have a check-printing machine,” he said, pointing to a large device behind him. “My business partner, James, has one too. We can print illegitimate payroll checks with genuine account numbers for any desired amount. What we need is the right person to load those amounts onto bank cards.”
“I’m not sure I’m following. Where do I come in?”
“Dammit, Shan, are you even listening? Or do you need the man to spell it out?” Carol snapped, clearly growing frustrated.
“No need to get upset,” the man continued calmly. “Shannon, you’d be our dedicated bank teller. My associate and I would use you to process the checks. For your troubles, you’d get 20% of everything we cash. Now don’t worry—this isn’t our first rodeo. The system works. I already do business at First Cash and Loans Bank on the east side. Trust me, you’re in no danger here.”
I told him I needed a day to think it over. To my surprise, he didn’t pressure me. He gave me space, like he genuinely respected the weight of what he was asking. And how could he not? This decision could cost me everything—my freedom, my future, my life as I knew it.
I took a deep breath, the gravity of it all pressing in. Doubt crept into my mind. My mother, of course, was no help. She was too preoccupied with her struggles, leaving me to navigate this storm on my own.
I glanced at her, feeling a knot of frustration rise in my chest. At that moment, I had never seen her smile so brightly. The joy on her face was a jarring contrast to what I felt inside. She was happier in those fifteen minutes than she’d been during my entire childhood. It was infuriating—disheartening, even—to see her elated over something that made me feel so caged and unsafe.
This was a pivotal moment—not just for me, but for our entire family. I felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into the unknown, where one wrong step could mean a free fall or a chance to break free. Clarity slipped through my fingers as I tried to weigh the consequences. The promise of quick money dangled in front of me like a carrot, while the risks loomed just as brightly, threatening everything I cared about.
How could I make a decision that might change the entire course of my life?
After leaving the meeting, I knew I’d spend the night wrestling with the options, trying to navigate the murky waters between desperation and morality. I had a day to think—just one day to decide what this choice would mean. My mother’s fleeting joy still echoed in my ears, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever I chose, it had to be something I could live with. No matter the outcome.
The future felt uncertain, but I promised myself I’d face it head-on, trusting my strength to carry me through the chaos ahead.
As expected, I couldn’t sleep. All I could think about was this fucking deal. So much was at stake. My freedom. My family. If things went sideways, who would look after the kids?
And yes, I’d learned that my mother had no legal risk. None at all. Just me on the line. I wasn’t surprised. Not even a little.
I arrived at Mr. Edward’s home at 8 a.m., hoping the early visit wouldn’t bother him. I was too anxious to wait. The need to go over the details again burned in me. I needed him to understand—I wasn’t someone to be taken lightly. This was serious. Life-changing.
I dressed with intention: a cream polo tucked into slim ankle trousers that hugged my figure just right, trimmed with chocolate fur. I finished the look with suede boots—sleek and deliberate. Everything about my outfit was calculated to send a message: I was ready, and I was not here to play.
Stomping up to his front door, I walked like I meant business. Maybe if I moved with enough purpose, he’d see my resolve before I even spoke. Because I was dead serious about this decision, and when that door opened, I needed him to feel it.
As I reached his doorstep, I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. The quiet of the morning wrapped around me, but the rhythm of my heartbeat thudded in my ears as I raised my hand to knock. This was a pivotal moment. I had to confront the terms he’d set and lay my cards on the table. There was no room for doubt or hesitation—I had to own this. I was here to reclaim my agency and make sure our partnership was transparent, fair, and on my terms.
The knock echoed through the silence, bouncing back to me as I waited, a storm of excitement and dread churning in my gut. I was ready to face whatever was behind that door. I would carve out a space where my voice mattered. The stakes were high, and I wasn’t letting this moment slip.
I looked him dead in the eye, laid out my demands, and made it clear—I was not someone to fuck with. I told him straight: my family means everything to me, and if anything goes wrong, they stay untouched and uninvolved. I had already made my choice: I’d risk my life to protect them.
“If you screw me, I’ll come for you,” I warned, one final time before I walked away. “I know a few niggas who would kill for me.”
The rest of the day blurred. The weight of the morning hit me hard—it started to sink in that I’d signed my life away. But there was no turning back. I lost all motivation. My mind raced, my hands shook, and I felt like I was going to throw up. I couldn’t stop shaking.
“Get it together, Shan. Get it together,” I repeated to myself in the mirror, over and over. I needed to lock in and stand by my decision, but the fear kept creeping in—what if I was throwing my life away?
Monday was two days away. No turning back now—not that I gave myself a choice. I had already made a deal with the devil.
When Monday arrived, I pushed the fear aside and found a sliver of confidence. But deep down, I was still scared shitless. I walked into work, kept my energy steady, and acted as if nothing was amiss. I don’t know if it was just my conscience, but it felt like everyone could tell something was up.
Mr. Edward’s associate walked in precisely at 10:30 a.m. We weren’t busy at all. He scanned the room, his eyes eventually locking with mine. He moved toward me without a word or change in expression. I took a deep breath. When he reached my counter, I greeted him as usual, and he gave a small smile, still silent. I took another deep breath. The transaction was completed in under 10 minutes—easier than I expected—but I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease, as if my heart had sunk to my feet.
After work, I drove straight home. My mother, Carol, was waiting for me as soon as I stepped onto the porch.
“Hi, Baby! How’d it go? Is everything okay? Are you all right?” she said all in one breath.
“Ma, sit down, please. Calm down. Relax,” I said gently. “Everything went great.”
“You sure? Tell me what happened.” Worry was clear on her face.
“It was fine. Everything took less than five minutes. It was nothing.” I reassured her.
A relieved smile crossed her face. “Well, do you want something to eat? I made spaghetti and broccoli. You hate broccoli, so you don’t have to eat it. But the spaghetti’s delicious—I added extra garlic, just like you like it.”
“Ma, you never cook; this is weird.”
“Shan, yes, I do. You always act like I’m not domestic or a good mother.”
“Ma, I never said that. Please don’t put words in my mouth. I’m exhausted, so I’m going to lie down. I’ll eat later, okay? After my nap, for sure.” I didn’t want to argue; I just needed some space.
I went upstairs, took a long shower, then lay down to sleep, my mind racing. I knew life would never be the same after today.
