Chapter Five
Inna Grace
Luck wasn’t something I ever counted on. Growing up with Dad taught me that much. The universe didn’t hand out favors. It threw surprises like knives, and half the time, you didn’t even feel the cut until you were already bleeding.
Dad never made our house feel like home.
We had food, clothes, and a roof over our heads—the practical things.
Comfort was something else entirely. After Mum disappeared, something in him shut down.
I got used to watching him drift past Cole and me as if we weren’t there.
Those years weren’t happy. We were just surviving.
But now, luck had taken a wrong turn and found me. A month had passed since the night I became a thief, and nothing had happened. No call from the police, and nothing from Mr. Torres either. It could only mean one thing: I got away with it.
Hiding out in Little Haiti worked.
I mean, Mr. Torres’s brother was drunk that night. He probably didn’t even remember what happened. And honestly, if he got in trouble for it, I didn’t care. He has been stealing long before I ever touched that briefcase.
Renting a studio apartment meant I had to find a way to earn money. Otherwise, we’d burn through what I took and end up right back where we started. So it was time for Plan B.
Cole, somehow, had settled into this life with ease. Maybe it was because, as a kid, he expected little to begin with. I envied that.
I tore my gaze away from the mirror where I’d been standing too long and found Cole on the floor. He lay on his stomach, pencil in hand, wrestling with a math problem I’d given him.
Homeschooling became our rhythm. Rich people paid strangers to homeschool, so why not me?
He was focused, serious, and proud in that stubborn, nine-year-old way.
“Do you need help, kiddo?” I asked.
“I’m nine,” he muttered, eyes still locked on the page, counting under his breath. He clearly hated pet names.
“Noted.” I picked up the brush and dragged it through my hair. “We’ll revise when I get back.”
“Will you bring the book I asked for?” he asked, tilting his head to look at me.
“That depends on whether I pass a bookstore.” The thought of stepping out was already giving me a headache.
He rolled onto his side and pushed himself upright. “Why won’t you take me with you? I’m done with the homework.”
I didn’t answer right away. A month of quiet meant nothing. Just because no one came looking for us didn’t mean we weren’t in danger. And if there was one thing I protected, it was Cole.
“I already told you,” I said, reaching for the black mask and pulling it over my face. It has become a habit since we moved here. Every time I stepped out to buy food, I wore it.
“I’ll bring ice cream. Stay here and read the storybook. And don’t open that door for anyone. Am I clear?”
He exhaled, a sigh far too heavy for a nine-year-old. “No one ever knocks anyway.”
“Cole.” My voice sharpened just enough.
“Fine, fine.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I won’t open the door for anyone. I won’t talk to anyone if they knock. No one’s at home.”
“Good.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and adjusted it. “I’ll come back to make dinner. You can have those cookies later.”
“You didn’t tell me where you’re going,” he said as he traced lazy circles on the page, pretending to care more about that than the question.
“I’m looking for a job, remember?”
In truth, I wasn’t looking for a job. I was looking for a way to stretch the money. Hunting for a job would be a waste of time. A small, affordable spot in a busy market made more sense. I could sell anything there, and Cole and I would survive.
I had the route mapped in my head. Leaving the apartment didn’t mean I would let my guard down. Every interaction was calculated. I was ready to change my name if it came to that.
I remembered going by Grace Anderson back in New York, when Mum was still with us. When we moved from New York to Florida, Dad insisted I go by Inna. Back then, I never understood why, but now it made sense. It was about hiding. Just like Cole and I were doing now.
The sky had turned a bruised gray. Clouds bunched together like a warning, thick and swollen with the promise of rain. The walk from the apartment to the market took twenty minutes. I ducked under a bright awning, adjusted the strap of my bag, and watched people jostle past.
The market throbbed with life. Vendors sold fried dumplings, vegetables, and sweet snacks, while customers navigated crowded paths. The air weighed heavily with heat and the mingling smells of oil, smoke, and spice.
I scanned for a vacant spot, but every corner seemed claimed. One small patch caught my eye, and I walked toward the woman standing by it. I could ask her about renting the space.
“Hello,” I said as I stepped closer.
“Spicy or plain?” She held the tongs over a tray of fried fish balls. I had to buy some, if only to ask about the space.
“Both, and keep them separate. My brother can’t handle spicy food.”
She smiled. “My son, too. How old is your brother?”
“Nine,” I said. “And your son?”
“He’s six, and he loves spicy food just to prove me wrong.”
I laughed, digging through my bag for a bill. “Boys. My brother is always reminding me he’s nine, like it’s a badge of honor.”
“They’re stubborn,” she said, handing over the neatly packed snacks.
“Tell me about it.” I shook my head and waited as she counted my change. “Also…this market looks busy. Can one actually get a space for a stall?”
“Looking for a spot?”
“Yes. I want to sell snacks. Cookies and simple treats,” I said.
She nodded toward the space beside her. “Bad luck. That one’s taken. Around here, claiming a stall is a war.”
My hopes sank, and I slipped the change into my pocket. “Oh.”
“Someone booked last week,” she added. “But sometimes people lie. Who books a space and doesn’t show up right away? You could check the office, but it’s closed today.”
A flicker of hope surged through me. “So it’s possible?”
“Come tomorrow, first thing in the morning. You might get lucky.”
“Really? Then I’ll come tomorrow.”
Another customer approached, and the lady smiled at me, turning her attention to the customer. “Okay, dear. See you tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I said, turning to leave. If I got that space, it would mean a lot.
I hurried through the crowded streets. Rain started falling before I arrived home, and I was already soaked.
Cole sprawled on the floor where I left him, books scattered around like fallen leaves. He pushed himself upright and grabbed the bag of fish I brought.
“I smell fish,” he said.
“Wash your hands first.” I shrugged the bag off my shoulder. “And what sort of research are you doing here, anyway?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow once I have the answer.” He ran to the bathroom to clean up.
Cole and I spent most evenings like this, lost in stories and arguments over characters and plots.
He would talk, and I would listen, never tiring of his little critiques.
I offered him my attention freely, knowing that homeschooling stole time from socializing.
If things went well, I would get him into a proper school.
My phone rang in the middle of his lecture on why a villain’s plan made no sense. I rolled my eyes at him and answered the phone without waiting.
“Hello,” I said, eyes flicking to Cole as he muttered to himself, flipping through the worn pages of his book.
No one spoke. The silence yanked me back to reality.
My heart did little flips as I pulled the phone from my ear to check the number.
Unknown. I wanted to hang up, but I knew too well that ever since Dad disappeared, I’d been waiting for his call.
Sometimes I even answered scam calls, hoping it would be him.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“Your husband.” A deep voice said.
Great. Just a man reckless and arrogant enough not to check his wife’s number before calling.
“Wrong number.” I almost hung up, but froze when he spoke again.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Inna Grace Anderson.”
My heart skipped a beat. The way he said all three names snapped every nerve in my body to attention. No one outside my family knew all three.
“Who…how did you know…” My words stumbled, refusing to form a proper sentence.
“You have something that belongs to me,” he said, and the weight behind his voice made my skin crawl.
I got up and stumbled toward the bathroom, away from Cole. I couldn’t let him see I was panicking.
“Who are you? No,” my words wavered. “You have the wrong person. I…I don’t know who you are.”
“Nice try.” He sounded almost amused, and it unraveled me. “Now, don’t you think I should meet my son, as I also meet this lady who, surprisingly, is my wife?”
Those words hit me hard. He had found me. The lie caught up.
“Tomorrow, 7 p.m. Don’t be late. I’ll send the location. And don’t forget to bring my son.”
I shook my head, “I told y—”
“Have a lovely evening, wife.” The sarcasm cut through the tension. “And can you shut the window? It’s cold, you know?”
I froze for a moment before I sprinted to the window. It was wide open. I slammed it shut. My heart threatened to leap out of my chest. I pressed myself against the wall, my chest heaving up and down.
“Good. See you tomorrow,” he said, and the abrupt beep of the line cut off followed. The phone slid from my hand, landing at my feet. I shoved the curtains aside and caught sight of a car pulling away from the curb.
It wasn’t Mr. Torres’ brother. It was the man I claimed as my husband and stole from him. And Cole being our son? Mr. Torres’s brother told him that, too?
He found me, and he knew my name.