Kamala barely managed to hold Samara up as she guided her out of the car.
Her body felt weightless in the worst way, like she wasn't even trying to hold herself up.
She wasn't sobbing anymore, but her breaths were still short, her face still buried in Kamala's shoulder as they made their way into the hotel.
She didn't speak.
Didn't acknowledge Julia or Tazara on the phone.
Didn't even react when Kamala reached the door to their room and fumbled with the key card, tightening her grip around her. The second they stepped inside, Kamala led her straight to the bed, lowering her down gently. Samara didn't protest. She just curled up, her arms wrapped around the small, tattered bear.
Kamala exhaled sharply, kneeling beside the bed. She reached out, hesitating before gently tugging at the bear to set it aside.
Samara tightened her grip.
Kamala sighed. "Okay," she murmured. "I won't take it."
Samara didn't say anything. She just curled in on herself, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, staring past Kamala like she wasn't really seeing anything at all. Kamala reached out again, this time brushing a few damp strands of hair from Samara's face. Her skin was warm, clammy, like she'd been crying for hours, not just minutes.
The weight of the moment settled heavily in Kamala's chest. She glanced at the clock. 4:03 PM.
Neither of them had eaten.
And she still had Samara's phone.
She couldn't give it back. Not now. Not when she knew what Samara had been about to find.
Kamala stood, moving carefully to the door. Samara didn't stir.
She slipped out into the hallway, closing the door softly behind her before pressing her back against it. She inhaled deeply, letting the tension roll off her shoulders for just a moment. Then, she pulled out her own phone and dialed Julia.
Julia picked up on the first ring. "What are we gonna do?" she asked immediately, her voice tight with anxiety.
Kamala exhaled sharply. "I don't know."
A beat passed before Julia spoke again. "We can't let her use her damn phone."
Kamala swallowed. "I know."
There was silence.
And then Julia clicked a button. "Hold up, I'm adding Tazara."
A second later, the line clicked again. "Yo," Tazara's voice came through. "What's going on?"
Kamala pinched the bridge of her nose. "She's imploding," she admitted.
"She looks—" She hesitated, glancing toward the door. "She looks like she's already lost everything."
"She hasn't even seen the worst of it yet," Julia muttered.
"And when she does," Tazara said grimly, "it's gonna destroy her."
Kamala clenched her jaw. "I say we leave it for now."
"Kamala—"
"No, listen," she interrupted. "It's late, none of us have eaten, and she's already barely functioning. If we dump everything on her now, she won't make it through the night."
Julia was quiet, but Tazara sighed. "I hate to say it, but Kamala's got a point."
"We can't just sit on this forever," Julia warned.
"I won't," Kamala promised. "I'll tell her in the morning."
Julia still sounded hesitant, but she didn't argue. "Fine. But if you're doing it, you need to do it right. If her mother tells her first, we might have a murder on our hands."
Kamala let out a breath. "I know."
They hung up.
Kamala tucked her phone away and ran a hand down her face.
Then, with a determined breath, she started down the hall to get some food.
She only made it a few steps before she heard the soft creak of the hotel door behind her.
She turned, and her stomach clenched at the sight.
Samara stood in the doorway, her head peeking out just slightly. Her red-rimmed eyes were glassy, her lips cracked from dehydration. Her hands trembled slightly against the frame.
But more than that, there was something different in her expression.
A festering bitterness.
Not toward Kamala.
Toward her mother.
Kamala's heart pounded.
Samara had heard them.
And she wasn't going to wait until morning to find out.
"Just tell me, I don't have much else to lose..." she said defeated.
Kamala didn't answer right away. She just stared at Samara, her stomach twisting.
She looked so small standing there, hunched against the doorway, her fingers curled into the frame like it was the only thing holding her up.
"Just tell me," Samara murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't have much else to lose..."
Kamala's chest tightened.
"Samara," she said gently, shaking her head. "Not now. You need to rest."
Samara flinched like the words had physically struck her.
"I don't need rest," she snapped, her voice breaking. "I need the truth!"
Her breath hitched, and tears welled in her eyes. She stepped forward, trembling.
"Y-You all keep acting like I can't handle it, like—like if you just wait, I'll be okay."
"I won't be okay! I already know it's bad—I feel it. So just—just—tell me!"
Kamala clenched her jaw, refusing to meet Samara's eyes.
"I don't want to see you break down again," she admitted, her voice tight. "Not like earlier."
Samara's breath came faster, uneven, and she bawled her fists at her sides. "Then don't watch!" she cried.
Kamala flinched.
Samara squeezed her eyes shut, her face crumbling as she let out a choked sob. "I can't—" she gasped, shaking her head. "I can't do this!"
She tried to say something else, but the words wouldn't come. Her shoulders began rising and falling like a jackhammer. She stuttered over half-formed syllables, her voice breaking apart into garbled sounds, words tumbling over each other in an unintelligible mess.
Kamala's stomach twisted in alarm.
People were peeking out of their rooms now, whispering, frowning.
"Samara," Kamala called gently, stepping forward.
Samara's knees buckled. She grabbed the wall for support, her eyes low, her breath shaky.
Kamala caught her by the arms. "How long has it been since you've eaten? Or had anything to drink?"
Samara clenched her jaw. "That ain't important."
"Yeah, it is," Kamala shot back.
Samara opened her mouth to argue, but suddenly, her body sagged forward. Her stomach growled violently, and she swayed. Kamala barely managed to catch her before she collapsed.
"That's it," Kamala muttered, maneuvering her back into the room.
Samara didn't fight her.
She let Kamala guide her back to the bed, her limbs heavy, her head lolling slightly as she sank onto the mattress.
Kamala crouched down in front of her, gripping her shoulders lightly. "Listen to me."
" I'm gonna go get you something to eat, and then we'll talk. Okay?"
Samara blinked sluggishly, her voice a mere huff. "Kamala..."
"Everything you're about to find out is bad," Kamala warned, her voice soft but firm. "Terrible. Are you sure you want to know?"
Samara's breath shuddered as she exhaled. She didn't hesitate.
"I have to."
Kamala studied her carefully. There was something in Samara's eyes—something past the pain, past the grief.
Exhaustion.
Not just physical, but emotional.
Like she was losing everything.
Like, in her mind, she already had.
Kamala swallowed thickly and sighed. "Alright," she said finally. "When I get back, you're eating something. Then we'll talk."
Samara nodded weakly.
Kamala stood, giving her one last careful look before turning for the door.
She didn't want to tell her.
She didn't want to see what would happen when she did.
—
Kamala returned to the hotel room carrying a bag of fast food, she set it down on the table and handed Samara a drink first, watching closely as she took a slow sip.
They didn't speak.
Samara ate quickly, shoveling fries into her mouth like she hadn't had food in days; which, for all Kamala knew, might have been true. Kamala, on the other hand, picked at her meal, taking small bites, chewing longer than necessary, dragging out the time.
She hoped Samara would get tired and fall asleep before she finished.
But Samara wasn't stupid.
When Kamala finally put down her half-eaten sandwich, Samara turned to her, eyes still swollen but sharp with awareness.
"I know what you're doing," she said. Her voice was hoarse but firm.
Kamala didn't respond.
"You're eating slowly, trying to outlast me." Samara sniffed. "It's not gonna work."
Kamala let out a long sigh and put the food aside. There was no escaping this conversation.
She finally moved to sit next to Samara on the bed, hesitating before taking her hands into her own.
"Your father..." Kamala began, squeezing her hands. "He was murdered."
She knew that. Samara didn't react. She just stared, unblinking, her fingers twitching slightly.
Kamala pressed on. "And he was murdered by your mother's boyfriend at the time."
Samara still didn't move, didn't blink.
Kamala waited, trying to gauge her reaction, but there was none. Nothing at all.
So she kept going.
"And now... he's trying to get out on parole."
That was when Samara finally reacted.
She started to fidget, her hands jerking slightly, her shoulders rising and falling unevenly. Her breath hitched.
Kamala swallowed before adding the last part. "And he wants... well has said at his most recent hearing he wants a relationship with you."
Samara didn't hesitate.
"Hell no!" she burst out, her voice cracking. "I will never let that man into my life or near me!"
Kamala let out a breath, relieved by the certainty in her voice. It was the first time Samara had spoken with some fire in her voice in a while, other than when she yelled at her mother.
"Well—" Kamala started, but then she stopped herself.
Samara's eyes snapped to hers.
"Well, what?" Samara demanded.
Kamala pressed her lips together. "It's nothing—"
"No, don't do that." Samara's voice sharpened. "Tell me what you were about to say!"
Kamala shook her head. "I don't think—"
"If you don't tell me, I swear to God—"
Kamala raised an eyebrow. "You swear to God what?"
Samara clenched her jaw, her eyes dark.
"I'll do something, to myself..." she said, her voice eerily calm.
Kamala's stomach dropped. "Samara..."
"I will," Samara insisted.
Kamala stared at her like she'd lost her mind. It was one thing to be upset. It was another to threaten something drastic.
The air between them turned heavy.
Kamala searched Samara's face, trying to tell if she was bluffing—but she wasn't.
She had been pushed far enough.
Kamala let out a slow, shaky breath.
"Your mom..." she said carefully. "We figured it's convenient for her to try to pull you back, we don't know for sure, but we feel as though she might be trying to push you toward becoming a defense attorney so you can help get him out of prison. Whether you've graduated first or not."
The words hung in the air like poison.
Samara blinked. Once. Twice.
Then, her breath hitched, her body trembling. She leaned forwards resting her head in the palms of her hands, she didn't sob, she did get angry, she just sat there like that. Kamala sighed, glancing around the room. Her eyes landed on the bear Samara had clung to earlier, the small piece of paper still tucked into its arm.
Carefully, she got up and picked it up, making sure not to disturb Samara. She gently pulled the paper free and unrolled it, smoothing out the creases with her fingers.
Her eyes scanned the note.
"If you're reading this, that means I'm probably gone. And I know you probably won't understand everything right now, but keep this safe. No matter what happens, always remember, I love you. I always will."
Kamala's breath caught in her throat as she reached the bottom of the page.
Oscar Jordan.
She blinked, feeling a strange weight settle in her chest. But it wasn't just his name that made her stomach turn, it was what was underneath it.
A legal document.
Kamala's hands tightened slightly around the paper as she scanned the text.
It was his will.
And in the event of his passing, everything, financial assets, his savings, his accounts, belonged solely to Samara Jordan.
Her name was listed clearly on a separate bank document from Bank of America, marking her as the account's rightful owner.
Kamala's eyes widened. Her mother didn't have control over it.
She flipped back to the first note, rereading the words, then looked back at the official pages, her mind racing.
'Had Samara's mother known about this?' Was this part of why she was so hellbent on keeping Samara close? Had she hidden this from her on purpose?'
Kamala turned, ready to tell Samara what she'd found—but when she did, she stopped.
She hadn't looked at the amount listed or any other finer details, she just read the accounts' owner name and needed to tell her but...
Samara had fallen asleep.
She was sprawled out on her stomach, her body limp with exhaustion, her face half-buried in the pillow. Her breathing had finally evened out, her hands tucked beneath her cheek.
Kamala hesitated, then let out a slow breath.
Carefully, she set the note aside and reached for the blanket, pulling it up over Samara's shoulders.
For a moment, she just stood there, watching her sleep.
She should've felt relieved that Samara was resting, but instead, there was something twisting deep in her gut.
What the hell were they even doing?
Kamala was sitting here, babying this grown woman she loved, protecting her, comforting her, watching over her.
But Samara loved her too... right?
Or was Kamala just filling the role of something else? Someone else?
A mother figure Samara didn't have right now?
Kamala swallowed hard and turned away.
She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer, but she knew she wouldn't leave.
January 5th
Araminta pulled into the parking lot of the Maryland Correctional Facility just as the sun began creeping over the horizon. The air was sharp with winter cold, the sky still a muted shade of gray, as if the world itself wasn't fully awake yet. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, exhaling a shaky breath before shutting off the engine. For a moment, she just sat there, staring at the bleak building ahead.
'It's fine. Everything is fine.'
She stepped out, smoothing down her coat, and made her way inside.
The process was the same as always.
Security checks.
Metal detectors.
A correctional officer rifling through her purse before waving her forward.
The sterile hum of fluorescent lights.
The occasional crackle of a walkie-talkie.
Finally, she was led to the visitation room, where she took a seat at one of the cold metal tables. Her hands fidgeted in her lap as she waited. She hated this part. The stillness. The anticipation.
Then, the door at the far end of the room opened.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped through, his orange jumpsuit slightly loose on his body. His hair had grown out some, a little more salt than pepper now, but his eyes, those sharp, piercing eyes, were exactly the same.
Hazel and unrelenting. His lips stretched into a grin.
"Well?" he drawled, his voice smooth as ever. "Look who finally decided to visit her favorite man."
"Troy."
Araminta stood quickly, her nerves settling the moment he was in front of her. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face against his shoulder.
For a moment, he stiffened, then his arms tightened around her waist, his grip firm, possessive. When she pulled back slightly, he caught her chin between his fingers and leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss.
It had been months since she'd last seen him, but the heat between them never faded.
When they finally pulled apart, she exhaled, smoothing her hands over his chest before they both sat down.
"I have news," she started.
Troy leaned back in his chair, watching her. "I'm listening."
Araminta swallowed. "Samara is coming back to Baltimore. She—she's going to focus on defense, like we talked about."
His expression darkened. "Then what's the problem?"
She hesitated. "She's... unsure. About speaking for you. On your behalf."
Troy's jaw clenched, his fingers tapping against the table. "And why the hell is that?"
Araminta shifted uncomfortably. "She—she found something. A gift. A note Oscar left her when she was little. The night... everything happened."
Troy's entire body stiffened.
"A-and She doesn't know everything yet," she added quickly. "At least, I don't think she does."
His nostrils flared. "And if she does?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "She hasn't—"
"Are you gonna come through or not, minta?" he interrupted, his tone sharp, cutting.
She swallowed hard. "I just need more time—?"
Troy scoffed, shaking his head. "Time," he repeated mockingly.
"I don't have time. They moved my damn date up for good behavior, what am I supposed to do, beat somebody? And I need that goddamn girl or somebody else, to speak on my behalf, Araminta." He repeated, his anger growing as he slapped the back of his hand into the palm of the other
"I don't give a damn who it is." He said plainly
"I'm sick of waiting on you to figure some shit out when I shouldn't be in here in the first place."
Araminta flinched. "Troy—"
But he was already pushing up from the table, his expression thunderous.
He shot her one last glare before turning and stalking toward the exit.
She sat there, stunned, a pit forming deep in her stomach.
Everything was slipping through her fingers. She was losing him?
She had no idea what to do.
—
Araminta stepped into the house, closing the door behind her with a heavy sigh.
The living room was a disaster—coats, shoes, papers, and other items scattered across the floor and couch. Samara had torn through the place, desperate to find that damn gift box.
Araminta swallowed, forcing herself to move. She bent down, picking up a pair of shoes and setting them aside before gathering the coats into a pile. She worked mechanically, her mind still reeling from the visit with Troy.
His voice still rang in her ears. Are you gonna come through or not, Minta?
She shook her head, pushing the thought aside as she reached for a plastic bag that had been knocked over in the chaos. It was stuffed with old documents, papers she had meant to put away and never did.
With a sigh, she lifted the bag, about to toss it back into the closet—until something caught her eye.
A familiar piece of paper peeked out from the mess.
She hesitated, then reached in, pulling it free.
Her breath caught.
Samara's original birth certificate.
Araminta stared at it, her fingers tightening around the edges. There, printed in neat black ink, were two names under
'Parents.'
Hers. And his.
Oscar Jordan.
Clear as day, this wasn't the version she could let anyone see.
A lump formed in her throat.
Her mind flashed back to the past, courtrooms, judges, heated arguments in legal offices.
Oscar had fought for Samara. He had tried, over and over, to gain custody, to get some form of legal rights.
He had the money. God, did he have the money. A stable home. A steady job.
The only thing stopping him was this piece of paper.
Because the birth certificate she had handed over in court, the one the judge had seen, had only one name.
Hers.
This one, the real one, had never seen the light of day. And never would.
Araminta felt her chest tighten. She had done it for a reason. At the time, she had convinced herself she was protecting Samara, keeping her safe from a man she had convinced herself was dangerous, unfit.
Well, troy convinced her was unfit. At the time, troy didn't even have a job. Sleeping on her couch in the home her and Oscar paid for.
Oscar didn't hate her, he never did, he just wanted his daughter. She never screamed, insulted, or did a thing to make her hate him.
She just did, because he said she should, he wanted to be Samara dad, she wanted him to be her husband, her partner, her dad and she couldn't have it.
Not now.
Not ever.
She still didn't know what had gone wrong that day, how she'd ended up being the one to do it be he was the one who got carted to jail.
Oscar hadn't been the threat.
She had just wanted too much she couldn't have, and he was the only thing making that clear.
Her hands trembled as she shoved the paper back into the bag, her breathing unsteady.
With a sharp exhale, she threw the bag into the back of the closet, slamming the door shut.
She leaned against it, pressing a hand to her forehead.
If Samara ever found out the truth...
She would never see her again.
—
The morning light filtered in through the blinds, casting soft streaks of gold across the bed. Samara stirred, her body heavy with exhaustion despite the hours of sleep. Somehow, it wasn't enough. She felt just as drained as she had the night before, if not more.
Kamala's arms were still wrapped around her, chest pressed against her back, the warmth of her body a comfort Samara hadn't known she needed.
She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes again.
Safe. She felt safe.
She tried to shift closer, pressing into Kamala's hold, but the woman was already snug against her. Samara let out a quiet sigh, reaching down and tugging at Kamala's arms to wrap them even tighter around her.
She shouldn't be so dependent on her. She knew that. But right now, she couldn't help it.
Kamala wasn't just taking care of her, she was there. Not with money, not with gifts, but with her. And Samara... Samara wanted that. Wanted her.
All day. Every day.
But it was slipping through her fingers.
Nine days.
Nine days before the semester was over. Before, her mother cut her tuition. Before they had to decide to make it work?
Before she had nothing.
She was going to practice law still, right, just for defense, just for whatever her mom planned-
'What if she is trying to use me'
She swallowed thickly, staring blankly at the ceiling.
What had she been thinking? Going back for that box? Talking to her mother like that?
Her eyes flickered to the bear.
She could only imagine what it would've been like if she had opened it all those years ago. Would it have changed anything? Would he still be here? If she had known sooner.
A lump rose in her throat.
'Is this my fault?'
The thought made her stomach turn, and lingered, sinking deep into her bones.
She had to let it go.
She had to.
Dragging a hand down, Samara let out a shaky breath before finally pulling herself from Kamala's arms. She needed to go back. Get her bag. Head back to Howard for what felt like her final days.
She moved towards the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She had barely turned towards the sink when the door burst open.
Kamala stumbled in, slightly out of breath, holding a folded-up piece of paper in her hand.
"This—" she started, pressing the paper into Samara's hand.
"This was in the arm of the bear. You should read it. Alone please."
Samara eyed her suspiciously. "What is it?"
Kamala shook her head. "I don't know the finer details. I just know it's something that might solve your issue."
Samara sighed, rolling her eyes. "Great. That's not vague at all."
Kamala gave her a small, tired smile before stepping out and closing the door behind her.
For a while, there was nothing but silence.
For a moment, Samara just stood there, staring at the paper in her hands. Her heart hammering as she slowly unfolded it, her breath hitching as her eyes read the text.
And then—
A gasp.
Papers rustling.
Kamala, standing outside, straightened up, listening.
Then, the door flew open.
Samara stood in the doorway, tears streaming down her face, her expression utterly shocked.
"I can stay at Howard."
Her voice was breathless, disbelieving.
And then she sprinted towards Kamala, practically leaping onto her as they tumbled back onto the bed.
Samara was crying, clutching the papers like they had been proof of something, burying her face in Kamala's neck as she repeated the words over and over.
"I don't have to leave, "she whispered, voice trembling but growing softer each time.
"I don't have to leave" she repeated as if to refused to believe anything else
She pressed frantic kisses along Kamala's jaw, her cheeks, her lips, her hands tangling in Kamala's shirt.
Kamala let out a startled laugh, gripping Samara's waist as she tried to steady them both. "Jesus, girl, you're—"
But Samara just kept kissing her, small, breathless moans slipping between them as her lips trailed lower, pressing into Kamala's neck. Somewhere along the way, she found herself straddling Kamala's waist, looking down at her with a smile. Kamala reached up, brushing a tear from Samara's cheek, before letting her fingers rest against her jaw.
"I'm glad to see you like this again," Kamala murmured, her voice soft, steady.
Samara leaned down, her lips just a breath away from Kamala's.
"Me too."
As Samara's lips met Kamala's once again, the papers that had been clutched in her hand mere moments before were carelessly tossed to the floor, forgotten in the wake of her newfound desire.
Her focus was now solely on Kamala, and she poured all her energy into kissing her, harder and faster with each passing moment.
The days of depression and worry seemed to melt away as she lost herself in the sensation of Kamala's skin beneath her lips.
Her hands roamed wildly over Kamala's body, tugging at her shirt as if desperate to rid her of it.
"Take it off," Samara whispered urgently, her voice husky with need. Kamala obliged, slowly lifting the garment over her head as Samara's fingers danced across her skin. The shirt was discarded on the floor beside the papers, and Samara's attention turned to Kamala's pants.
With a knowing touch, Samara worked the buttons and zipper, easing the fabric down over Kamala's hips until it was bunched around her thighs. She paused for a moment, gazing up at Kamala with a look of unadulterated need before standing up to fully remove the pants. As she pulled them off, she took hold of Kamala's ankles, gently but firmly tugging her towards the edge of the bed. Kamala sat up slightly, a look of surprise flickering across her face as Samara positioned herself between her legs. But as Samara urged her back down with gentle pressure from her hands on Kamala's stomach, she lay back once more. Her eyes locked onto Samara's face as she began to caress along Kamala's waist and stomach with soft strokes.
The air was thick as Samara pressed kisses along Kamala's inner thighs. Each sent shivers coursing through them both; every kiss made their hearts beat faster in anticipation of what was to come.
As Samara reached the edge of Kamala panties. Samara's fingers danced across the wet spot, a devilish smile spread across her face. She could feel the heat emanating from Kamala's body, and the way her hips tried to roll against Samara's hand was almost too much to bear.
Kamala's moans filled the air, and Samara's smile grew wider as she teased her, running her fingers back and forth across the damp fabric.
But Samara didn't linger for long, her patience wearing thin as she ripped a hole in Kamala's panties and pushed them aside.
Her mouth descended upon Kamala's exposed flesh, and she began to eat her out with reckless abandon. The sounds that poured from Kamala's lips were like music to Samara's ears — whimpers that turned to moans, pleas that turned to broken sentences.
As Kamala's body began to unravel, Samara added a finger, then another, then three. In her mind, she couldn't help but curse Siobhan, for showing her this, but the sweet sounds coming from Kamala made it all the better.
Smiling as she listened to Kamala beg her not to stop.
But Samara just chuckled to herself, knowing that she had the upper hand, and she would never stop all together, maybe a break, but she wasn't letting this chance slip away. She hoisted Kamala's legs onto her shoulders, pulling her closer by the hips as she flattened her hand against Kamala's stomach to keep her in place.
For a moment, Samara pulled away, looking up at Kamala with a mischievous glint in her eye.
"You alright?" she asked, trying to sound innocent despite the fact that she knew exactly what she was doing, like she hadn't her face buried between her legs. Kamala looked down at her, exhausted but smiling nonetheless. She nodded slowly, huffing out a breath as if daring Samara not to try to get more out of her.
They both knew they wouldn't stop.
Samara laughed softly under her breath, determined than ever before to finish Kamala off..
As Samara continued to suck, lick, and pump her fingers, Kamala's moans grew higher and more desperate.
"Come on, let go, please for me?" Samara urged, her voice filled with excitement.
"I've got you, I've got you. Just relax and let it happen."
Kamala's legs began to shake around Samara's head, and she could feel the tension building inside her.
"Oh god, oh god," Kamala whimpered, her voice barely audible. "j-e-oh!"
"Mm hmm" Samara whispered back against her, only making the shaking worse, her fingers moving faster and harder. "You're so close, I can feel it. Let go, come on. Let go for me."
With one final cry of pleasure, Kamala came into Samara's mouth. She quickly rolled over onto her side, trying to catch her breath, sooth the sensation, as Samara climbed into bed next to her.
Samara smiled as she wrapped her arms around Kamala's waist, holding her close. Her face was still covered in Kamala's juices as she whispered into her ear.
"You're not getting away that easily," Samara teased gently.
"Well that is if you don't get up soon then I'm going at it again because I've got plans but what's better than what we can do together"
"No, you are going to get all of that sorted, get up before I try to turn you out" Kamala warned as Samara laughed and rolled from the bed
—
Samara could barely sit still as she hurried around the room, gathering the papers and triple-checking them. Her fingers trembled slightly, not from fear but sheer adrenaline.
"Okay, so—" she started, glancing over at Kamala, who was still buttoning up her shirt.
"Walk me through this. The will, the money, the account... Is it all really mine? Or do I have to go through some kind of process?"
Kamala smoothed her shirt down, glancing at Samara with amusement, they were valid questions she was glad she was asking.
"It's yours," she reassured her.
"Assuming, since your name was on the account from the start, there shouldn't be any fees or issues in taking it over fully. And since you're over eighteen, the bank should just transfer everything into your name automatically."
Samara exhaled sharply, nodding. "And they don't need anything else?"
"They might ask for a death certificate," Kamala admitted.
Samara frowned but didn't stop pacing. "Okay. That's fine. I mean, that's easy enough to get."
Kamala hesitated for a second before adding, "There is one possible issue, though."
Samara stopped mid-step, narrowing her eyes. "What kind of issue?"
Kamala gave her a pointed look. "If your dad made that account while still married to your mom, and she didn't know about it, she could argue that he hid its existence and that she's entitled to half of what's in it since they divorced."
Samara's expression darkened. "She won't find out."
"You don't get to choose that, babe," Kamala said carefully.
"Especially since you're staying at Howard. Your mother's going to know something's up, she's going to realize you suddenly have the money to be independent. If she pushes, she could start digging. That means lawyers, and the account gets frozen."
Samara bit her lip, considering.
Then, she simply shrugged. "Then we'll just have to hope that's not the case."
Kamala sighed, shaking her head, but a small smile played at her lips. "You're really just winging this, huh?"
Samara grinned. "if it works, it works."
Kamala chuckled, nodding. "Alright."
With that, they both grabbed their things and headed out.