Chapter 2
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Luna
18 years ago
The moment I step into the living room, I'm wrapped in the familiar scents of apple and cinnamon. It's November, and like clockwork, Mom's baking her famous apple and walnut pie - a tradition as reliable as the leaves falling outside. I curl up on the couch, watching Dad at the table, conversing softly with a stranger I've never seen before. Something's off - their faces are drawn tight, serious. Dad's usual warm smile is nowhere to be seen, replaced by a frown that looks foreign on his features. Minutes tick by before he hands the man a white envelope. What happens next catches me off guard - the stranger pulls Dad into an embrace, holding on like a drowning man to a lifeline.
When the stranger leaves, I ask Dad, "What was in that envelope?"
Dad looks at me for a few seconds with such a soft look, like when I ask him to let me stay one more hour at the playground on the slides.
"Some money, Little Moon," he answers softly.
"And why did you have to give it to him?" I ask. At seven years old, I know about money. And I know that we don’t have money to spare either. That's why we only go to McDonald's once a month and don’t have the latest LEGO set at home. "It costs too much, Little Moon." That is always the answer. So my confusion is logical.
"Because if you can help someone, do it, Luna," he tells me and returns to Mom in the kitchen.
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If I could go back, I'd grab that naive version of myself by the shoulders and make her understand. Yes, helping others is good - but not everyone deserves your kindness, and not every outstretched hand should be taken. I can still see that man's face lighting up with gratitude, and God, how those moments trapped me. Made me believe I could save everyone. That memory became my prison, pushing me to help someone who would later make me regret every ounce of compassion I'd ever shown.
My grandmother had a saying about doing good deeds for the wrong people, and I've never understood it as well as I understand it now.