MasukI stared at Tasha's text through the rain-blurred screen, the smiling emojis mocking the absolute wreckage of my current reality. I had nowhere else to turn, and swallowing the bile in my throat, I reluctantly typed back three words that tasted like ashes: “please help me.”
Twenty minutes later, Tasha's mom's SUV pulled up to the control. Tasha immediately jumped out with an umbrella in her hand, and her face a show of fake concern. She rushed to where I was standing and wrapped her hand around my shoulder.
"O my God, Oma! What are you doing out here in the rain? You are soaked!" She escorted me into the warm leather interior of the car and her mother was also in the car. I greeted her and tried to make myself as comfortable as I could even though I was wet all through.
Tasha's voice brought me back to the present. “Oma, you didn’t answer my question, what happened? Why were you in the rain?” She asked again, feigning sympathy and concern.
I told her what happened, I explained to her that I just discovered that I was pregnant, and my dad threw me out of the house threatening that I must not return until I have found the man responsible for it. As I spoke, tears rolled down my cheeks afresh.
Tasha gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "What! that monster! She exclaimed. “Why would he do that? Don't you worry, I’ve got your back babe. But why didn’t you call earlier instead of getting so soaked? Anyway, that’s not a problem, you're staying with us. Right, Mom?" she said turning to her mother who was at the back seat.
Mrs. Davis, who is a very kind woman but perpetually distracted, nodded. "Of course, my dear, we have the guest room and you are welcome to stay as long as you want." She said, giving me a reassuring smile.
Thank you very much for your kindness ma’am, I said forcing a smile, and feeling a little bit relieved. Turning to Tash I responded to her question. "I wasn’t even thinking straight Tasha, but thank God for your text message, it was timely."
The guest room was warm and cozy, sheltering me from the cold. I took a hot shower, changed my clothes and arranged a few of my belongings that I brought.
When had settled in, my instinctive mind wandered to Tasha's message about going to the movie with Franklin. I decided to ask her about it. "Tasha, you said you were going to see a movie with Franklin, how come? Are you now an item?"
"Come on Oma, are we not friends? What is the big deal about going to see a movie together?" She responded flippantly. Her body language said more than she was ready to spill out though.
I wasn’t satisfied with her response so I asked further. Why did you consider me a third wheel with you my best friend and Franklin my boyfriend, is there something more you are not telling me?"Relax Oma, and take care of yourself. Going to the movie with Franklin should be the least of your worries at the moment. Tasha said.
My heart was heavy with doubt but I let it slide and decided to watch.
That night was the longest for me as I tossed and turned. The event of the day was playing in my head like a horror movie; I imagined my ambition of becoming a corporate lawyer shattered with this baby growing inside of me without a father. I sobbed myself to a weary sleep.
For weeks, I lived in the fawn reservation of Tasha's guest bedroom, drowning in gratitude and guilt at the same time, and feeling like a parasite in another person’s house. While. I spent my days vomiting quietly into the guest room toilet and at the same time, desperately searching online for jobs for pregnant teens with no experience.
I tried to be useful while staying with Them. I cleaned the house, folded laundry, and tried to ignore the way Tasha's sugary sweetness seemed to have a brittle edge to it lately, like someone who has some skeletons in her cupboard.
I sensed that something was wrong but again I said to myself; I’m just hormonal and being paranoid, these people were my saviors in this time of distress; they were the only people who loved me, my only family for now. If anything, I should be grateful for having a roof over my head.
One Tuesday afternoon, I came home early from a failed job interview at a café, looking tired and unhappy. The house was unusually quiet; Franklin had secretly visited and was in Tasha's room. They didn’t hear the sound of the door when I entered. As I walked past Tasha's bedroom door, which was slightly ajar, I heard a soft giggling from inside, then Franklin’s voice, low and smug, saying-"You know Tash,I still can't believe the plan actually worked. With her scrupulous moral sense, I thought she’d chicken out at the party, if she did, there is nothing we would have done; but you were very insistent though and she kept gulping the drinks" he said laughing.
I froze on the spot, I didn’t know whether to go forward or run out, to laugh or cry.
"Pleeease!" that was Tasha's voice, dripping with venom I had never heard before. " I guess little “Miss Perfect” was desperate to fit in. All it took was three vodka cranberries and she was anyone's for the night. Besides, we won the pool. Five hundred bucks is five hundred bucks. That’s something" She said giving Franklin a triumphant tap on the shoulder. They both laughed heartily.
My blood ran cold, my heartbeat became faster, my legs were weak, and the floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. Hot sweat rolled down my eyes from my forehead; I closed my eyes and opened again, I suddenly became dizzy, and I asked myself -am I dreaming, what did I just hear?.
"Yeah, that was it,” Franklin continued, “but now she's pregnant and living right here in your house. Did you ever think that part through? I guess not, so you will have to deal with it"
"Whatever.” Tasha said, flinging her hand nonchalantly. “It's not like it's your kid, Franklin. Why are you even bothered? And you know that we just needed her to be side-tracked so we could hook up without her grumbling. Who knew the random guy we pointed her to, didn't believe in protection? We didn’t plan for it to end this way but then again, it’s not my circus, not my monkeys." She said dismissively.
I released the breadth I was holding with a loud, strangled gasp escaping my lips before I could stop it. Inside the room, the laughter cut off instantly. The grounds squeaked, and Tasha pulled the bedroom door wide open. Her eyes went wide, her face paling as she saw me standing there, trembling with the shattering realization of what they had done.
(POV: Richard)The Oakhaven timber had aged beautifully.Twenty years of salt air, spilling coffee, and the heavy friction of thousands of legal files had worn the dark wood down to a deep, polished patina. If you looked closely at the far corner of the main conference table in Logan Heights, you could still find the faint indentation where a three-year-old Maya had once hammered a plastic gavel during a zoning meeting.It was a Saturday evening, the quiet hours when the firm belonged entirely to the shadows and the ghosts of old cases. The ringing phones were silent, the community intake lines were forwarded to the automated system, and the vast floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto a San Diego skyline that felt entirely unthreatening.I sat at the head of the table, my sleeves rolled to my elbows, a heavy glass tumbler of amber cider resting near my right hand. The silver lines of my old accident scars were faded now, faint white threads woven into the fabric of a body that had su
(POV: Oma)Ten years later, the ink on the dissolution papers had long since faded into history, but the foundation we built upon it had only grown deeper.The morning sun over the La Jolla bluffs was exceptionally bright, casting long, golden bars of light across the familiar timber dining table. I stood by the wide glass doors, a warm mug of tea cradled in my hands, watching the endless, rhythmic cadence of the Pacific surf below. For a long time, I used to think of time as a countdown, a ticking clock before the next corporate raid, the next security breach, or the next legal ambush.Now, time felt like an expanse. A vast, beautiful ocean with no horizons and no hidden traps."You're doing that thing again," a low, deeply resonant voice murmured from behind me.Before I could turn, Richard’s arms wrapped effortlessly around my waist, pulling me flat against his solid chest. He was dressed casually in a soft linen shirt and dark trousers, the sharp, calculating edge he once wore lik
(POV: Elizabeth Jones)Richard’s shoulders tensed in front of the window, but he still didn't turn around to face me. The silence in the penthouse was suffocating, stretching out like an unbridgeable chasm.Every ticking second of that silence felt like a jury deliberating on my soul, and with every beat of my heart, I felt the terrifying weight of my past actions pressing down on me. The absolute, unyielding control I had spent forty years building felt entirely useless now. It couldn't buy me an hour of my son's time, and it certainly couldn't shield me from the devastating truth of what I had done.Driven by a desperation I had never known, I turned my gaze entirely to Oma, my hands clasping together in a pleading gesture."Oma... I treated you abominably. I looked at your background, your family, your lack of corporate pedigree, and I used every weapon in my power to try and diminish you.I tried to make you feel small because I was terrified of how large your spirit was. I was te
(POV: Elizabeth Jones) Tonight, my knees trembled beneath the hem of my tailored wool coat.The marble corridor of the penthouse suites at the Presidio loomed as cold and unyielding as a mausoleum. For forty years, I had walked through spaces like this with my chin high, the soles of my shoes clicking a rhythmic, voracious baseline that told the world exactly who I was: Elizabeth Jones. A woman who didn't negotiate, who didn't apologize, and who certainly didn't bend.I stood outside the apartment, my hand hovering inches above the polished brass knocker. My fingers, usually steady enough to sign away multi-million-dollar subsidiaries without a second thought, were shaking. I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall opposite the door. The pristine, ice-blonde bun was perfectly in place, the diamond studs in my ears cost more than most people earned in a decade, but the eyes looking back at me were hollow.I had skipped Richard’s wedding on that windswept bluff in Big Sur, choosing
(POV: Nora)The glass walls of the private rooftop pavilion on the Île Saint-Louis looked out over a Paris that seemed entirely spun from silver and twilight. Below us, the Seine moved like a slow, dark ribbon, cutting through the ancient heart of the city, reflecting the amber necklaces of the streetlamps and the distant, filigreed ironwork of the Eiffel Tower.I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, checking my reflection in the dark glass. Two years ago, on a windswept cliff in Big Sur, I had worn champagne silk as armor. Tonight, I wore a structural column of ivory crepe by a French designer who didn’t know my family’s history and couldn’t care less. There were no heavy gems around my neck, no predatory tailoring designed to signal a hostile takeover. For the first time in my thirty-three years, I didn't look like a woman prepared for war.I looked like a bride."You're pacing, ma chérie."Jean-Luc stepped up behind me, his hands resting lightly on my bare shoulders. His thumbs t
(POV: Oma)The transition from the raw, unshielded intimacy of the night to the structured clarity of the morning was a rhythm we had come to master over months of shared trials.By 6:00 AM, the fire in the living room had burned down to a quiet memory of white ash, replaced by the brilliant, golden glare of a fresh California sunrise spilling over the rugged bluffs of Big Sur. The light cut cleanly through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air and casting long, hopeful shadows across the room.I sat at the heavy oak dining table, a half-empty mug of black coffee cradled between my palms, letting the radiating warmth seep into my skin. Spread out before me weren't the panicked documents of our recent past, there were no foreclosure notices, predatory corporate contracts, or zoning loopholes designed to price families out of their own lives.Instead, the table was covered in the physical archives of our survival: a faded legal pad from our first
Richard met his mother again on a Tuesday.He didn't tell me until he was already on his way out."I called her this morning," he said. "We will be meeting at a coffee shop in Hillcrest."I was on the sofa with the baby against my chest and a highlighted evidence chapter open in my lap. I looked up
When we walked out of the courtroom. The flashbulbs and the reporters hampered around Richard and I, calling his name. His hand was on my back, steering me forward through the small crowd of news reporters.Thank God we were at the winning side in the courtroom.While we moved towards our car. Imm
Richard stood alone in the wreckage of the bookshop. He leaned against the heavy oak desk, his lungs burning, his hand shaking as he wiped a smear of blood from his cheek. The silence rushed back in, heavy and thick with the scent of old paper.He walked toward the alcove, his heart hammering again
"Sir, they will tear you apart!" the security said in panic."Let them try." Richard pushed past the guard and shoved the heavy glass doors open."Mr. Jones," the head of building security said, stepping forward with a pale, stressed face. "Sir, we’ve called the district, but they’re taking their ti







