Chapter Two: Zuri's Ride
The sound of clanking dishes and a soft hum of a cartoon theme song filled the cramped kitchen of Apartment 4B. Kelly Adeniyi stood by the stove, flipping an egg that had already started to brown too much on one side. He glanced over his shoulder at the clock on the microwave—6:43 AM. He was running late, again.
"Zuri! You brushed your teeth?" he called over the sizzling.
A tiny voice echoed from the bathroom. "Yes, Daddy! With water AND toothpaste this time."
He smiled, relieved. "Good. That's my girl."
Zuri, age seven and a tornado of energy wrapped in tiny braids, appeared moments later wearing her school uniform with socks that didn't match. Her backpack looked like it weighed more than she did.
"Daddy, can I have the toast with the smiley face again?" she asked, hopping onto the stool.
Kelly grabbed the butter and a packet of raisins. Within seconds, he crafted a lopsided smile on her toast and set it down in front of her.
"Bon appétit, madam," he said with a dramatic bow.
Zuri giggled. "You're weird."
"And you love it."
Their mornings always had this rhythm—messy, a bit rushed, but full of love. It was the best part of Kelly's day.
Once Zuri finished eating, she dashed back into the room to put on her shoes. Kelly took that moment to mentally run through his own day. Tires to rotate, oil changes to manage, and a boss who thought sarcasm was a personality trait. He sighed, buttoning his worn work shirt.
"Ready!" Zuri shouted, nearly slipping on the hallway mat as she zoomed back.
Kelly scooped up his keys, wallet, and her water bottle. "Let's roll, superstar."
They left the apartment and descended the narrow staircase of the complex, nodding politely to Mr. Thompson, who was already out watering his stubborn tomato plants.
"Zuri, you remember what we said about strangers?" Kelly asked as they reached the car.
"Don't talk to them. Don't follow them. Kick them in the—"
"Zuri!"
"—shin," she finished, innocently.
Kelly chuckled. "Good enough."
Their car, a silver 1998 Honda Civic with peeling paint and a radio that worked when it wanted to, groaned as it came to life. Zuri climbed into the back seat and clicked her seatbelt.
"Daddy, if I get a gold star today, can we get ice cream after school?"
Kelly raised an eyebrow. "Didn't we already have the ice cream talk this week?"
"But this would be victory ice cream," she reasoned.
He shook his head, fighting a grin. "If you get two gold stars, you've got yourself a deal."
She squealed in excitement.
The drive to Maple Hill Elementary was filled with Zuri's stories about her science project, a pet lizard named Mr. Wiggles who lived in her imagination, and a kid named Jayden who kept stealing her pencils. Kelly listened, interjecting occasional dad wisdom.
"Next time Jayden takes your pencil, ask him to return it like a gentleman."
"What if he's not a gentleman?"
"Then you show him you're a lady with boundaries."
"That sounds like something from your grown-up shows."
"Because it is."
They pulled into the school parking lot just as the bell rang. Kids poured out of cars, and parents waved their rushed goodbyes. Kelly parked and turned to face his daughter.
"You've got your lunch?"
"Yup."
"Homework?"
"Double yup."
"Smile?"
Zuri gave him a toothy grin, missing one of her front teeth.
He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Go get that star."
Zuri hopped out and joined the wave of kids heading toward the school entrance. She turned back halfway and blew him a kiss. He caught it midair and pressed it to his chest, like always.
Once she disappeared into the building, the lightness on his face slowly faded. Kelly leaned back into the driver's seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel.
His phone buzzed. A text from his boss at the auto shop:
Frank: "If you're not here by 7:45, I'm docking your pay."
Kelly glanced at the time. 7:22.
"Of course you are," he muttered.
He shifted the car into gear and drove toward the shop. His life wasn't glamorous—worn shirts, underpaid hours, dreams on hold—but it was steady. Zuri made it worth every long shift and skipped meal.
What he didn't know was that soon, his routine would be shattered by a woman whose high heels cost more than his monthly rent.
And the chaos? It was just getting started.
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