Chapter 3 #2
I stayed there longer than I realized—sitting on the wet sidewalk, rain pounding against my back, groceries bleeding into the gutter like the universe was mocking me.
People walked past, umbrellas tilted, eyes sliding over me like I was just another piece of New York scenery.
A cautionary tale. A reminder that the city didn’t care who you were or how hard you tried.
Someone stepped around me, muttering something about “tourists.” If only.
My fingers were numb by the time I reached for the ruined drawing book.
The cover peeled up in soggy layers, the pages already warping.
I tried to lift it, but it fell apart in my hands, the paper dissolving into pulp.
I stared at it, throat tight. It wasn’t about the book.
It wasn’t even about the money. It was the fact that I’d bought it with hope.
With the tiny, stupid belief that I could still give something good to someone.
And now it was ruined. Like everything else I touched.
A car splashed through a puddle nearby, sending a wave of cold water across my legs.
That finally jolted me back into my body.
I forced myself to stand, my knees shaking.
My hands trembled as I gathered what was left of my groceries—half a loaf of bread, a cracked carton of eggs, milk that had burst open and was leaking down the sidewalk like a crime scene.
I left the milk. I couldn’t carry it. Couldn’t carry anything else.
The walk home felt longer than usual. Every shadow looked like a threat.
Every footstep behind me made my heart jump.
I kept checking over my shoulder, expecting those men to reappear, to drag me into an alley and finish what they started.
My breath came too fast, too shallow, and I had to force myself to slow down before I passed out.
By the time I reached my building, my hands were shaking so badly I dropped my keys twice. The lock stuck again, and I shoved my shoulder into the door harder than necessary. It finally gave way, slamming open with a bang that echoed through the hallway.
Inside, the apartment felt too small. Too quiet. Too dark.
I set the groceries on the counter and leaned against the sink, gripping the edge until my knuckles turned white. My breath hitched. Once. Twice. Then the dam broke.
I slid down to the floor, back against the cabinets, and cried. Not the soft, cinematic kind of crying. The ugly, shaking, gasping kind that made my chest ache and my eyes burn. The kind that came from somewhere deep and old and tired.
I cried for Colin. For the fear in my bones. For the years I’d spent paying for mistakes that weren’t mine. For the fact that no matter how hard I worked, no matter how many shifts I picked up or how many corners I cut, it was never enough.
I cried until there was nothing left.
Eventually, the tears slowed. My breathing steadied. The apartment was still dark, but the storm outside had softened to a steady drizzle. I wiped my face with the sleeve of my jacket and forced myself to stand.
I needed to think. To plan. To figure out how the hell I was going to survive the next three months.
A hundred thousand dollars.
Three months.
And a threat hanging over my brother’s life.
I paced the length of my apartment, hands in my hair.
I could pick up extra shifts somewhere, but that wouldn’t even scratch the surface.
I could sell my furniture, but it wasn’t worth anything.
I could ask Delia, but she’d never have that kind of money, and even if she did, I couldn’t drag her into this mess.
I stopped pacing and pressed my palms to my eyes.
There was only one place I made real money. Only one job that paid enough to keep me afloat. Only one person who might—might—be able to help if things got desperate.
Hector.
The thought made my stomach twist. He didn’t owe me anything. He barely tolerated me. And after today’s mishap, he probably wanted me gone.
But Lily…
Lily needed me.
And Hector would do anything for her.
I hated myself for even thinking about it. For considering using a child’s progress as leverage. But I wasn’t planning to manipulate him. I wasn’t planning to ask for anything. I just needed to keep my job. To stay employed long enough to figure out something else.
I took a shaky breath and grabbed my phone. The screen lit up, cracked lines spiderwebbing across Delia’s contact photo. My thumb hovered over her name. I wanted to call her. To tell her everything. To let someone else carry the weight for five minutes.
But I couldn’t. Not yet.
Instead, I opened my banking app. The numbers glared back at me, unforgiving. I closed it quickly before I could spiral again.
I changed into dry clothes and made myself a cup of tea with the last of the tea bags. It tasted like cardboard, but it was warm. I wrapped my hands around the mug and sat on the couch, staring at the wall.
The rain outside softened to a gentle patter. Cars passed on the street below. Somewhere in the building, someone was cooking onions. Life kept moving, indifferent to the fact that mine had just imploded.
I thought about Lily’s drawing—the ballerina with stars. The way she’d shifted closer to me on the couch. The tiny, fragile trust she’d given me.
I thought about Hector standing in the doorway, looking at his daughter like she was the only thing tethering him to the world. The pain on his face. The exhaustion. The weight he carried alone.
For a moment, I wondered what it would be like to tell him the truth. To say, I’m drowning. I’m scared. I need help.
But that wasn’t who we were. That wasn’t who he was. And I wasn’t someone who asked for help. Not anymore.
I finished my tea and set the mug down. My hands were steadier now. My breathing calmer. The fear was still there, coiled tight in my chest, but I could move again. Think again.
Tomorrow, I would go to work. I would apologize. I would keep my head down and do my job. I would be exactly what Hector needed me to be: consistent, reliable, unproblematic.
And then I would figure out the rest.
Because I had to.
Because Colin’s life depended on it. Because failure wasn’t an option.
I lay down on the couch, pulling a blanket over myself. The springs creaked beneath me, familiar and worn. I stared at the ceiling until my eyes grew heavy.
The last thing I thought before sleep dragged me under was Lily’s voice all those months ago, soft and small, whispering Hurray.
A reminder that even in the darkest moments, something good could still break through.
Even if it didn’t feel like it tonight.