Julia sighed as she poured herself a cup of coffee, rolling her eyes at the dramatic pleas coming from her phone speaker.
"Mommy, please, please, please, mommy, pleeeesssaaaeee! OMG, please, please, pleaaase—you know I love my best friend, don't do this to MEHHHH!"
Julia pinched the bridge of her nose. "Tazara—"
"She's not gonna be happy at home! She won't last, you know it, I know it, the dog in the house next door knows it! This is her dreams we are talking about, mom, you have to see that. I mean, think about what you saw, what you heard, how is she supposed to go back after all that?!"
Julia took a slow sip of her coffee, letting the warmth settle before sighing. "Tazara."
Tazara kept going, full speed ahead. "She belongs at Howard! I mean, did you even see how she was when she thought she'd have to leave? She was miserable. And I know she won't ask you herself, because she doesn't know about all this, but I'm asking you, begging you, to just do this for her. For me. For the world! For the future of—"
"Tazara."
She finally stopped.
Julia exhaled. "You didn't have to do all this whining and begging."
There was a silence.
"I didn't?"
"I was already considering it."
"Oh."
Julia shook her head. "I'll pay."
"WAIT, REALLY?!"
"I said yes, didn't I?"
"MOM! I LOVE YOU! I KNEW YOU HAD A HEART IN THERE SOMEWHERE!"
Julia rolled her eyes again. "You're lucky, I love you. I'll go over there later, see if Samara's around. If not, I'll call her myself."
Tazara let out a high-pitched squeal of joy. "I'M GONNA CRY! Okay, okay, I'll let her know if I get her first!"
"Yeah, yeah. Go before I change my mind."
The call ended with an excited shriek, leaving Julia standing in her kitchen, staring at her phone.
She shook her head again, but there was a small, amused smile on her lips.
"Dramatic ass kid," she muttered before finishing her coffee.
Now, all that was left was figuring out exactly what she was going to say to Samara, help her mom.
—
Araminta jolted awake to the sharp ring of her phone vibrating against the nightstand. She groggily reached for it, squinting at the unknown number flashing across the screen.
A collect call.
Her stomach twisted. She already knew who it was before she even accepted.
Pressing the button, she brought the phone to her ear.
"You have a collect call from—" came the automated voice
"Troy," followed by his deep, familiar drawl.
"—at the Maryland State Correctional Facility. Do you accept?"
She swallowed hard. "Yes."
A wave of noise burst through the receiver—men yelling, laughter, something metal clanging against the bars.
Then, his voice.
"Minta."
She sighed. "Troy."
"You ain't gon' say nothing else?"
"What do you want?"
There was a pause, then a dark chuckle. "Damn, cold. Good thing this ain't a social call."
She said nothing.
"My parole date's in eight days."
Araminta blinked. Her breath caught in her throat. "What?"
"They moved it up," he said, his voice steady, unaffected. Like he was talking about the weather. "Good behavior, good record, you know how it goes."
Her hand gripped the sheets. "I— I don't—"
"I don't need you to understand," he cut her off sharply. "I need you to make sure I get out."
She flinched. "Troy, I'm trying—"
"That's not good enough, bitch!"
"Don't get me out of here and ima get you and that nappy headed ass rat you call a daughter, try me, I might have a guard that can vouch for me if that little bitch can't"
The words cracked through the phone like a whip.
Her breath hitched, her pulse hammering in her ears.
"Try harder," he spat. Then the line went dead.
Araminta sat up, staring blankly at the phone in her hands. The silence in the room was suffocating. The only sound was the birds chirping outside, oblivious to the storm raging in her mind.
For the first time in a long time, regret seeped into her bones.
She had wasted everything on him.
Her daughter. Her time. Her sanity.
She had uprooted her entire relationship with her own daughter, twisted herself into a version of a mother she didn't even recognize anymore, all to keep Samara close, for him, all to keep Troy quiet.
And now?
Now, he was getting out. He might get out. maybe, he couldn't with Samara o-or a lawyer, right?
And the moment he did, he could ruin everything. He'd go trying to find her, she could feel it in her gut.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
He was the only person who knew everything, everything.
Every lie. Every desperate move she had made to keep Samara from learning the truth.
And if he did get out, if he really did have a way...
He could tell Samara everything.
It had been years since that night, since that gun in her shaking hands, since his voice in her ear—
"Do it, Minta! Pull the trigger, this nigga gotta go or the girl you fucking choose."
Her stomach turned.
Troy had made sure she was trapped. He liked her like this—caged, desperate, just like him.
But she wasn't him. And for the first time, she thought about the unthinkable.
What if she just... stopped answering his calls?
What if she let him rot?
She knew her heart wouldn't let her, not after getting so far into this, not at the idea he might still love her. The thought he might do something terrible if she refused and still got out.
She glanced at the phone in her hands, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
She had already done too much damage.
But maybe it wasn't too late to stop.
—
Samara sat stiffly in the chair, her fingers twisting together in her lap as the bank clerk typed away on the computer. The quiet hum of the machine filled the room, broken only by the occasional click of keys.
The morning had been exhausting.
Hours spent at Vital Records, jumping through hoops just to get a piece of paper that should have been straightforward.
But nothing about any of this could be straightforward.
The first roadblock? Oscar's birth certificate.
They wouldn't give her the document. They told her, 'if you aren't in direct relation', they couldn't give it to them. She was, though, she told them that, even had them pull up her own birth certificate. But still the refused.
They wouldn't accept that, they said it had been flagged as outdated in their system and another version had been submitted without her 'So-called father's name', as they put it.
'What the hell, but the first one-god fucking dammit she changes my birth certificate' she recalled cursing to Kamala as the clerk stared at them with an obvious disdain and disregard for their motives or time.
Just her name and her mothers. That version hadn't appeared out of nowhere. She and Kamala had spent over an hour arguing with the staff, trying to prove that she had a right to this information. It wasn't until Kamala pulled up an old student registry file from Howard, one that contained another version, the original; snapped and all, of Samara's birth certificate for enrollment purposes, that they finally relented.
Finally, they handed over the death certificate.
Now she was here, sitting alone in the clerk's office. Kamala had insisted on waiting outside, telling her, "This is your business, Samara. I'll be here, but you handle it."
She had understood that. This wasn't about Kamala. It wasn't even really about her father. It was about securing what was hers, about making sure no one else, especially her mother, could touch it.
The clerk clicked something on the screen and looked at her with a small smile.
"Congratulations. And I'm sorry for your loss."
Samara barely nodded, her stomach twisting. She didn't know how to respond, how could she never got to know him, but she also didn't want to.
Instead, she leaned forward slightly. "Can I have my father's name removed from the account?" she asked, voice steady despite the pain in her chest.
The clerk nodded, adjusting her glasses before pulling up another screen. "Yes, we can do that. Once I process the request, his name will no longer be linked, meaning no one but you will have access to the funds."
That was all she needed to hear. The knot in her stomach loosened, just a little.
She watched as the clerk typed for another few minutes before pausing.
"Just curious," the woman said, glancing at Samara.
"Most people in your situation don't really care about the account history. They just want the money. But you asked about when it was created. Why?"
Samara hesitated, but only for a second. Who was this person, her mother?
"I just... wanted to be sure about something," she said vaguely. "This account has a history I have doubts about."
The clerk didn't press, just nodded and turned back to the screen. "It was created the year after your birth, with an automatic transfer of ownership on your 18th" she said after a moment.
' parents had already divorced by then.'
Samara exhaled quietly, the relief washing over her like a wave.
She had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed made it real.
"Thank you," she said, and this time, she meant it.
The clerk smiled and handed her a set of documents, along with a bank card.
"Here's everything for your checking and savings accounts. You should be all set."
Samara took the papers, running her fingers over the embossed bank logo as she stood.
She stepped out into the lobby and immediately spotted Kamala, who had been waiting near the entrance. Kamala's eyes flickered to her hands, then to her face.
"How'd it go?" she asked.
Samara smiled, small, but real. "Better than expected."
Kamala studied her for a moment, then nodded. She knew this wasn't over, not really. There was still the matter of Samara's mother. Of her home. Of everything left unspoken.
But for now, this part was done.
"Let's go get your bag," Kamala said, leading the way toward the exit.
—
Julia pulled up to Araminta's home and killed the engine, sitting in the car for a moment. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, debating whether this was even worth it. She and Minta had never been friends, not really. But she cared about Samara, and if there was news to share, she wanted her to hear it.
With a sigh, she pushed open the car door and stepped out, the cool air hitting her as she made her way up the short walkway. The house was quiet, the porch light still on despite it being broad daylight. That wasn't a good sign.
She knocked once. Then again.
A long pause.
Then, the door cracked open just enough for Araminta to peer out. She looked... rough. Hair disheveled, eyes tired, and a tension in her face that made it clear she hadn't been getting much rest.
"What the hell do you want?" Araminta's voice was sharp, but there was no real bite behind it—just exhaustion.
Julia exhaled, already irritated. "Is Samara back?"
"No."
Julia rolled her eyes. "Well, if she does show up, tell her to call me. I've got some news I'd like to share."
She turned to leave, but Araminta's voice stopped her.
"Wait."
Julia turned back, watching as Araminta sighed heavily and ran a hand over her face.
"I'm sorry," she muttered.
"I just... I'm dealing with some things right now. Things I keep praying will go away."
Julia crossed her arms. "You shouldn't wish for your child to go away. She actually might."
"That's not what I meant," Araminta said quickly, shaking her head. She hesitated, then stepped back and opened the door wider.
"Come in."
Julia narrowed her eyes but stepped inside. The house was dim, cluttered, but not dirty. Just... neglected. She took a seat where Araminta gestured, watching as the woman paced for a moment before finally sitting down across from her.
"Alright," Julia said. "What's going on?"
Araminta leaned forward, clasping her hands together like she was bracing herself for what she was about to say.
"Troy Harper's parole date got moved up," she said finally, voice barely above a whisper. "Nine days from now."
Julia blinked. "okay?"
"So..." Araminta exhaled sharply. "I need to get a lawyer or... something. If I don't, and he gets out on his own, I—" She stopped herself, shaking her head.
Julia scoffed, cutting her off. "Let his ass rot in prison. Didn't he kill your ex-husband? I know you may not have liked that motherfucker, but that doesn't mean you need to pay to get the man who actually pulled the trigger out of prison."
Araminta didn't say anything.
And that silence was heavy.
Julia's eyes narrowed. "Minta...?"
Araminta swallowed hard, then looked her dead in the eye.
"It wasn't him," she said quietly. "It was me."
The words sank into the air like lead.
Julia stared, her body stiffening. "You?"
Araminta nodded. "I had to. He, Troy, he made me choose. Oscar or Samara."
Julia's mouth opened, then closed. She was stunned into silence, but Araminta kept talking, as if once she started, she couldn't stop.
"Troy got jealous," she murmured. "You remember him, don't you? Back in high school? The way everybody warned everybody about him. They said he was crazy?" A humorless laugh escaped her lips. "Well, they were right. And I am stupid."
She looked down at her hands.
"The night Oscar died... Troy came here early. He hit me, then left. And I thought that was it—I thought he was done with me. But he wasn't."
Julia swallowed, her throat dry. "Why did he hit you?"
Araminta's jaw tightened. "Because I told him I was considering letting Samara meet Oscar, actually telling her he was her father. She'd been asking about him more, talking about how all her friends had dads, and she didn't, hell, even tazara would ask during play dates. I wanted her to know him, just a little, I started feeling guilty keeping her away from him."
Julia exhaled slowly. "And Troy didn't like that..."
"No," Araminta whispered.
"He was just starting to get used to Samara. She didn't cower from him anymore, didn't ignore him completely. She was starting to acknowledge him, they were making a bond, just barely, but enough for him to cling to it. Enough for him to think that, maybe, she could see him as something more than just a man in my life. As a dad."
"But she didn't," Julia said, already knowing the answer.
"No. Because I never let her." Araminta's voice cracked slightly. "I told her Troy wasn't her father. That he was just a friend."
She looked up then, her eyes haunted.
"But that wasn't enough for him. He wanted more. He wanted control. He was buying Samara things left and right, even considering paying a private school tuition for her, but when he saw how easily Samara took Oscars gift. the night he died, he gave me a choice."
Her voice dropped, thick with pain.
"Do it, Minta. Pull the trigger, this nigga gotta go or the girl you fucking choose."
A shudder ran through her body.
Julia felt sick.
"You..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "You actually—"
Araminta nodded. "I did."
Julia took a shaky breath, running a hand over her hair. "Jesus Christ."
Araminta let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah. And now, Troy might be getting out. And if I don't do what I promised to help, he'll make sure Samara finds out everything, or worse"
Julia's blood ran cold. "What did you promise?"
Araminta looked her dead in the eye, her hands were trembling now, her fingers gripping the edge of the chair.
"I promised him Samara's help."
"You don't get it, Julia," she said, her voice cracking under the weight of it all. "If I don't get Samara to help him, or someone else to, he'll get out on his own. And if that happens..."
She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "He'll do something. Something dangerous."
Julia felt an icy chill crawl up her spine. "What do you mean, something?"
Araminta let out a slow, shaky breath. "I don't do what I promised. What I told him I would, since the moment he even got considered for parole." Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper.
"Since Samara entered high school."
Julia blinked, her body going rigid. "Minta... what did you really promise him?"
"I did" She said in barely a whisper
Julia sat forward, her stomach twisting. "Tell me you didn't."
Silence.
"Minta—tell me you didn't!"
Araminta let out a breath, shaky and broken.
"I did," she admitted, barely audible. "I promised him Samara's help."
Araminta looked up at her now, eyes red-rimmed and filled with something raw—something that looked a hell of a lot like guilt and terror twisted into one.
"But he's serious, Julia," she said, voice hoarse.
"You don't know him like I do. He doesn't make empty threats. If I don't keep my end of the deal, he'll find another way. And when he does, I don't know who he's gonna come after first. Me... or Samara."
Julia stared at her, stunned. This wasn't just a confession fueled by desperation, this was fear. The kind that had settled deep in Araminta's bones, the kind that had been there for years.
But none of that excused what she'd done. Was doing.
"You promised your daughter to him?" Julia whispered, barely able to wrap her head around it. "For what, Minta? What the hell does he even want from her?"
Araminta opened her mouth, then hesitated.
And that hesitation made Julia's stomach drop.
"What," she said, her voice sharpening, "does he want?"
Araminta looked away, shame burning in her expression.
"To make things right? — I don't know? He never told me all of that, just he needed her word a lawyer to get out, or just somebody to vouch for him, I can't do it because we were involved, and I have no clue how this law shit works"
Julia let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh. "Make what right? You mean forcing Samara to acknowledge him? Forcing her to pretend like he's something he's not? Forcing her to try to forgive the man that took what you'd kept away from her entire childhood?"
Araminta flinched.
"That's it, isn't it?" Julia accused, voice rising. "You've been priming her for this for years, making her think she needed to become this high achieving lawyer !"
Tears welled in Araminta's eyes. "You think I wanted this?" she shot back, voice shaking.
"You think I wanted to make my child hate me? To live knowing I was putting her in a position she should've never been in? I fucked up, I know, but I can't turn back now, not when I'm scared out of my mind if she doesn't get on board- "
Julia's jaw clenched. "Then why'd you do it, you had to have considered that Samara would grow up and have free will?"
Araminta's voice broke.
" it was the only way to keep her alive. You think I wanted to have to shoot my daughter or my ex? NO! I WAS FORCED TO MAKE A DECISION AND I DID"
The words hung between them, heavy, suffocating.
Julia exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair.
"Jesus Christ," she muttered. "You're telling me this now? When he's nine days from probably getting out?"
Araminta wiped at her face, nodding. "Because I don't know what to do, Julia. If Samara doesn't help, if I can't find someone else... he's gonna come looking for her himself. Or me"
"Are you going to tell her any of this?"
"I'm assuming you and that professor told her about Oscars death and troy"
"I believe so..."
"Well, then I think-" she began before the doorbell rang
The doorbell rang, sharp and abrupt, cutting off Araminta mid-sentence. She tensed, glancing at Julia with wide eyes before slowly rising from her seat. Julia stayed put, watching as Araminta smoothed her hands over her clothes, an unconscious attempt to compose herself, before moving to the door.
She opened it, and there stood Samara, a firm expression on her face, with Kamala just behind her, arms crossed in quiet support.
"I'm not moving back home," Samara said plainly.
"And I'm not transferring to the University of Baltimore. I can stay at Howard, without your money now. I'm just here to get my bag."
Araminta was stunned into silence, her lips parting, but no words coming out.
Samara sighed impatiently. "Are you gonna let me in or what?"
Araminta blinked and quickly stepped aside, nodding. Samara brushed past her without another glance, heading straight into the house. Kamala followed behind, her gaze flickering to Julia, who raised an eyebrow knowingly.
Before Samara could disappear down the hall, Julia spoke up.
"Sit down," she said firmly. "Kamala, you too. Your mother has something she needs to say."
Kamala hesitated, glancing at Samara for confirmation. Samara rolled her eyes but plopped onto the couch anyway. Kamala sat beside her. Araminta took the chair across from them, wringing her hands in her lap. Julia stayed standing, arms crossed.
Samara spoke first.
"This better not be a waste of my time," she said coolly.
Julia noted that she looked... better. Not just physically, but something in her posture, the way she held herself, was more assured. Stronger.
Araminta's mouth opened, then closed. She swallowed, glancing at Julia as if for guidance.
Julia sighed. "Call Tazara."
Samara frowned but pulled out her phone anyway. She put it on speaker, and after a few rings, Tazara picked up.
"What's up?"
"Just listen," Samara muttered.
Araminta took a shaky breath. "I know... you know about your father. About his death."
Samara scoffed. "And I know you want me to help get him out of prison." Her voice was sharp. "So let me save you the trouble—I'm not doing it. No matter what you say, no matter what you threaten to do, I don't have to listen to you anymore." She stood up. "I'm staying at Howard, and I'm not helping some man who took someone I was supposed to love—someone I was supposed to know—from me."
She grabbed her bag, which had been tucked behind her seat in the living room, slinging it over her shoulder.
Araminta didn't speak.
Julia, exasperated, threw up her hands. "Oh, for fuck's sake, just tell her the truth!"
Samara paused, brow furrowing. "What truth?"
Araminta inhaled shakily, staring at the floor.
"The parole hearing," she started. "Troy—he's getting out. Sooner than expected. And he... he made me promise you'd help him."
Samara's jaw tightened. "And you agreed?"
"I had to," Araminta whispered. "I didn't have a choice."
Samara let out a cold, humorless laugh. "There's always a choice, Mom."
Araminta shook her head. "Not when someone like him is involved. You don't understand, Samara. He's dangerous. If he gets out, and I haven't held up my end of the deal—"
"Then what?" Samara snapped.
Araminta hesitated.
Julia's patience was wearing thin. "Tell her why, Minta."
Araminta clenched her hands into fists. "Because he threatened us. Both of us."
Samara's expression didn't change. "So what? You expect me to just roll over and do what he wants? I'm not scared of him."
Araminta's voice was barely above a whisper.
"You should be."
The room was silent.
Samara shook her head. "I'm not doing this. I don't care what you promised. That's your problem, not mine." She turned on her heel.
"He will come looking for you," Araminta blurted out. "And there's a reason why."
A stunned silence filled the room.
Then, suddenly—
"What the fuck do you mean there's a reason why?" Tazara's voice exploded through the phone.
Samara froze.
Julia exchanged a sharp look with Kamala before quickly stepping in.
"We're gonna, uh—" she motioned toward the kitchen, already tugging Kamala up by the arm. "Give you two a moment." she said as she quickly snatched Samara phone from her, whispering to tazara to watch her mouth before hanging up.
Kamala shot Samara a lingering glance before letting Julia lead her away.
The door shut behind them, leaving Samara, Araminta, and Tazara in a heavy, suffocating silence.
—
Kamala leaned against the counter, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded, eyes flicking between Julia and the door leading back to the living room.
"What does she mean there's a reason why?"
Julia exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face before answering in as simple terms as she could.
"He made or Araminta promised Samara's help in getting out. If she doesn't—" Julia hesitated, watching Kamala's already tense posture stiffen even more, "—he's gonna come looking for her. Or for Araminta. Or both of them"
Kamala sucked in a sharp breath.
Her mind raced. The idea of that man coming to Howard's campus, searching for Samara, hell, even coming here and finding her mother alone, sent a cold shudder down her spine.
"Christ," Kamala muttered, "He wouldn't actually—"
Julia just gave her a look.
Kamala scoffed, shaking her head. "No, this is, this is insane. Why would she even consider promising him that? How does she think Samara, would go along with it, especially if she ever found all of this out?"
"She didn't think," Julia said, her voice edged with frustration. "Or maybe she did, but she figured she could force Samara's hand like she's been doing all these years."
Kamala didn't respond, just clenched her jaw. She wanted to argue, but deep down, she knew Julia was right.
And that terrified her.
Julia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before looking at Kamala again. "Look, if Samara really is cutting herself off from her mother's money, I don't want her worrying about tuition. I can take care of it."
Kamala blinked, surprised, before a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips.
"That won't be necessary," she said gently. "But I'm sure she appreciates you for even thinking of it."
Julia frowned. "Why not? I mean, Howard isn't cheap, and she just—"
Kamala cut her off with a simple answer, voice steady with quiet confidence.
"Because her father was a good man who thought ahead for his daughter."
For a moment, Julia just stared at her before exhaling and nodding.
"Alright," she said. "That's good."
Kamala hummed in agreement. "Yeah." Then her smile faded, and she glanced toward the living room.
"There's a reason why she wants to help him get out" Julia mentioned almost offhandedly as she leaned onto the counter beside Kamala
"What?" Kamala replied
"I think it's best you hear it from one of them two"
—
Samara sat on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, gaze locked onto her mother with an expression that could've cut through glass.
"Start talking," she said coldly.
Araminta swallowed and shifted uncomfortably. "It was early in the morning," she began, her voice quiet. "I had already sent you to school. It was just me at home when Troy came back."
Samara didn't move, didn't even blink.
Araminta's hands trembled slightly in her lap as she continued.
"He was drunk. I could smell it the second he stepped inside. He climbed into bed next to me, like he used to, and just... held me for a while." Her voice faltered.
"I had a lot on my mind. And I stupidly asked—"
She stopped herself, closing her eyes for a moment before shaking her head.
"I asked if he was happy," she admitted finally. "If this—us—was what he wanted."
Samara's throat tightened.
She didn't want to hear this.
Didn't want to picture it.
Didn't want to feel even a sliver of sympathy.
But her mother kept going.
"He didn't answer right away," Araminta said. "Just pulled me closer and kissed me. I thought—for a second, I thought, maybe things could be okay. So I asked again..."
"What do you think about Samara spending the weekend with Oscar"