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AMINA

I always thought I knew how my life would turn out—school, friends, maybe even a career in art.

But here I was, standing in our tiny, cramped apartment, feeling like the weight of my father’s debts was pressing down on my chest.

It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

The apartment felt even smaller today.

The walls seemed to close in, the cracks in the paint and the constant dripping of the faucet reminding me of just how far we’d fallen.

It wasn’t much—two small rooms, peeling floors, and an old, beat-up couch that sagged in the middle.

It used to feel like home, but now it just felt like a trap.

A place where every problem, every mistake, hung heavy in the air.

I watched my father at the kitchen table.

His head was down, his hands buried in a mess of bills.

He looked worn out, beaten by life, his face tired and drawn.

He had gotten older, faster, in the past few months, and I hated seeing him like this.

My heart ached. I wanted to help him, but I didn’t know how.

“Dad, can we talk?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, though it shook a little.

I knew this was going to be hard.

He looked up, his eyes dull and full of worry.

He seemed so far away, like his mind was lost in a thousand problems that he couldn’t solve.

“Not now, Amina,” he said softly, like the words themselves were too much for him. “I need to figure this out.”

That’s all he ever said lately—I need to figure this out.

But nothing ever got better.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, feeling more helpless than ever.

I hated that there was nothing I could do, hated that I couldn’t take away the pain I saw in his eyes.

“I know things are really bad,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “But maybe we can find another way? We just have to keep trying.”

He slammed his hand down on the table, making me jump.

“Another way? Amina, I’ve tried everything!”

His voice was harsh, filled with anger and frustration.

“There is no other way!”

His words hit me like a punch, knocking the wind out of me.

I didn’t know what to say.

I wanted to tell him I was only trying to help, but it felt pointless.

I was just a kid trying to deal with problems way too big for me to handle.

Twenty-three and still feeling like a child lost in the dark.

The truth was, no matter how hard I worked at the coffee shop, no matter how many extra shifts I picked up, it was never enough.

I barely made enough to keep the lights on and food on the table.

The debt was crushing us, getting bigger by the day.

I could see it in his eyes—the desperation, the fear.

And no matter how much I worked, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t save us.

My father owed money to the worst kind of people—the mafia.

It had started with small loans to pay off my mom’s hospital bills when she was sick.

Then, he started borrowing to cover gambling debts, hoping he’d win big and fix everything.

But instead, he just dug a deeper hole, and now we were stuck.

He owed these men so much money, and they weren’t the kind to forget.

They didn’t forgive.

I glanced at the clock.

Time was running out.

The night was quiet outside, but inside, I felt like something terrible was waiting to happen.

The knot in my stomach tightened. 

It felt like we were on the edge of something awful, and I didn’t know how to stop it.

“Dad…” I said softly, stepping closer to him, my heart breaking as I saw the fear in his eyes.

He wasn’t just scared of the money anymore.

He was scared for me.

For what they would do if he couldn’t pay.

“I don’t know what else to do, Amina,” he said, his voice cracking as he buried his face in his hands. “I tried to protect you. I tried to fix this. But it’s too late.”