TRUTH #2
I pressed the photos to my chest and let the tears come.
Because for the first time in weeks, I felt like I had control.
And no one—no one—was going to take that away from me.
I had one more stop to make before I could go home.
The drive to Loyola University took twenty minutes through midday traffic, and I spent most of it trying to calm my racing heart. The ultrasound photos sat on the passenger seat, face down, like I was protecting them from invisible eyes.
You’re being paranoid.
But paranoia felt justified when your life had turned into a war zone in less than two months.
I pulled into the campus parking lot and found a spot near the student services building. The lot was half-empty—most students were either in class or had already left for the day.
I grabbed my purse and the folder with my financial aid paperwork, then stepped out into the humid afternoon air.
That’s when I noticed it.
A black SUV.
Sleek. Tinted windows. Parked three rows over, engine idling.
My stomach dropped.
It’s nothing. It’s just a car.
But my hands were already shaking as I locked my door.
I forced myself to walk toward the building, my steps measured and deliberate, like I hadn’t noticed the vehicle at all.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
I looked back.
The SUV was still there, unmoving.
My pulse kicked up, hammering against my ribs.
You’re being ridiculous. There are a hundred reasons someone would be sitting in their car on a college campus.
But none of those reasons explained why my skin felt like it was crawling.
I pushed through the glass doors of the student services building and exhaled shakily, my breath fogging the air-conditioned space.
Get it together, Truth.
The financial aid office was on the second floor. I took the stairs instead of the elevator—something about being trapped in a small metal box at that moment felt unbearable.
When I reached the office, I was greeted by a student worker who looked barely old enough to vote.
“Hi, how can I help you?”
“I need to update my payment status,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “I’m switching to cash pay for the semester.”
She nodded and pulled up my account. “Okay, let me just—oh, you’re Truth Renois?”
“Yes.”
“You were on a payment plan last year, right? Before you had to withdraw?”
“Right.”
She clicked through a few screens. “Okay, so you’ll need to fill out this form to officially switch to cash pay.”
Blood money, a voice whispered in the back of my mind.
But I shoved it down.
I wasn’t going to feel guilty for using their money to build my own life.
I filled out the form, wrote the check, and handed both over.
“Perfect,” the student worker said. “You’re all set. Your books should be available for pickup at the campus bookstore.”
“Thank you.”
I left the office and headed back downstairs, my mind already shifting to the next task.
Books. Get the books. Then go home.
The bookstore was on the other side of campus, a ten-minute walk across the quad.
I kept my head down, my purse clutched tight against my side, my eyes scanning the open space for anything—anyone—out of place.
The quad was quiet. A few students sat on benches, headphones in, textbooks open. A couple tossed a frisbee near the fountain.
Normal.
So why do I feel like I’m being hunted?
I picked up my pace.
The bookstore was blessedly empty when I arrived. I gave the clerk my name, and she disappeared into the back to retrieve my order.
While I waited, I pulled out my phone and checked the time.
3:47 PM.
I needed to get home. I needed to lock the doors. I needed to—
“Here you go, Ms. Renois.”
The clerk returned with a stack of textbooks, and I signed for them quickly, shoving them into the tote bag I’d brought.
“Thank you.”
I was out the door before she could respond.
The walk back to the parking lot felt longer than it should have.
My legs were heavy, my breathing shallow, and every shadow felt like it was reaching for me.
You’re fine. You’re fine. Just get to the car.
I rounded the corner of the student services building and froze.
The black SUV was still there.
And this time, the driver’s side door was open.
A man stood beside it, leaning against the hood, his arms crossed over his chest.
He was tall—maybe 6’2”—with broad shoulders and a clean-shaven head. He wore dark jeans, a black T-shirt, and sunglasses that hid his eyes.
He wasn’t looking at me.
But I could feel his attention.
My heart dropped to my ass.
Move. Just move.
I forced my legs to carry me toward my car, my keys already in my hand, my thumb hovering over the unlock button.
The man didn’t move.
He just stood there, still as a statue, his head tilted slightly like he was listening to something.
I reached my car and fumbled with the door handle, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped my keys.
Get in. Get in. Get in.
I slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door, locking it immediately.
My breath came in short, sharp gasps as I jammed the key into the ignition and started the engine.
I glanced in the rearview mirror.
The man was still there.
Still watching.
Or was he?
I couldn’t tell. The sunglasses made it impossible to see where his gaze was directed.
Maybe he’s not even looking at you. Maybe you’re losing your mind.
I threw the car into reverse and backed out of the spot, my tires squealing slightly as I turned toward the exit.
I didn’t look back.
I couldn’t.
I just drove.
Fast.
My hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, my pulse roaring in my ears.
I checked the rearview mirror every few seconds, scanning for the black SUV.
But the road behind me was clear.
No SUV. No tail. Nothing.
See? You were being paranoid.
But my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
And the feeling—the crawling, suffocating feeling of being watched—wouldn’t go away.
The drive to Mama’s house felt longer than it should have. Every red light felt like a trap. Every car behind me felt like a threat. I kept checking the mirror, kept waiting for the black SUV to materialize out of the traffic.
It never did.
But that didn’t stop the paranoia from clawing at my chest.
By the time I pulled onto the narrow street where Mama’s house sat, my entire body was trembling. Home. Safety. The one place I knew the Landrys couldn’t touch me.
I cut the engine and sat in the car for a moment, wringing my hands together, my eyes scanning the street behind me one last time.
Nothing.
No black SUV. No man in sunglasses. No threat that I could see.
Was it real?
Or am I just so fucked up from everything that’s happened that I’m seeing threats where there aren’t any?
I didn’t know.
And that uncertainty—that not knowing—was almost worse than the fear itself.
I grabbed my bags and hurried out of the car, my eyes darting around the quiet street as I made my way up the walkway to Mama’s front door. I could hear the faint sound of the television and laughing through the screen door.
I knocked twice and waited, my heart still hammering against my ribs.
The door opened, and Mama appeared, her face shifting from curiosity to concern in an instant.
“Baby? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind me and locking it. Only then did I let myself breathe.
The smell hit me the second I stepped inside.
Gumbo.
Rich, thick, spicy—the kind Mama made when she knew one of us needed comfort. The scent wrapped around me like a blanket, and for the first time since I’d left the college parking lot, the tightness in my chest eased just a little.
I could breathe.
“Truth!” Raven appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her eyes swept over me, sharp and assessing. “You cool?”
“Yeah.” I set my bags down by the door. “Just… jumpy. With everything that’s been going on.”
“Jumpy?” Saroya emerged from the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing scrubs—must’ve just gotten off her shift at the hospital. “Mama told us about that shit that went down at the clinic. We ready to beat some ass, Truth. Just say the word.”
“Facts.” Honor came out of the kitchen holding a wooden spoon, her expression deadly serious. “Let us know what block they on, so we can spin it. After dealing with Terrance’s bullshit and my bad ass kids all day, all I got left in me is assault and battery.”
Despite everything, I felt a smile tug at my lips.
“Y’all need to calm down,” Mama’s voice cut through the chaos as she appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and living room.
She had on her apron—the one with the faded floral pattern that she’d had since I was a kid—and her reading glasses were perched on top of her head.
“Let the girl talk before y’all start planning a damn crime spree. ”
Raven snorted. “We just saying.”
“I know what you’re saying.” Mama pointed the spatula in her hand at each of my sisters in turn. “And I’m saying let Truth breathe before you start interrogating her.”
I moved into the living room and sank onto the couch, the familiar worn fabric soft beneath me. My sisters settled around me—Raven on the armrest, Saroya in the chair across from me, and Honor leaning against the doorframe.
Mama stood in front of me, her eyes soft but searching. “You okay, baby?”
“I punched Dr. Beaumont,” I said quietly.
The room went silent.
Then, Raven burst out laughing—loud, unrestrained, the kind of laugh that made her whole body shake. “About damn time! I been waiting for you to stop letting these hoes play with you!”
“Raven,” Mama started, but she was smiling too.
“What?” Raven wiped at her eyes. “I’m just saying. Truth been too nice for too long. Somebody needed to get they ass beat.”
“I also slapped Amai,” I added.
Saroya’s eyebrows shot up. “You slapped Amai Landry?”
“For playing with me.” My voice was steady now, stronger. “For lying to me. For thinking I was just gonna sit there and take it.”
Honor let out a low whistle. “Damn, Truth. You really out here choosing violence.”
“She had to,” Raven said, still grinning. “Can’t let these niggas think they can do whatever they want. Ain’t shit sweet over this way.”