Samuel walked down the worn path toward the kiosk, the directions from the man with the bent cap playing in his head.
*Vista Heights. Up the ridge. Ask at the old corner shop.*No more. No less.
His feet moved on autopilot. The late afternoon sun was soft but heavy. The kiosk came into view—small and battered, paint flaking off the tin roof, counters crowded with packets of chips and candy behind it. A familiar face looked up, her eyes widening as she took him in.
"Samuel? Is that really you?" she asked, surprise threading through her voice.
He paused, a small, almost embarrassed smile forming. "Yeah. It's me. Been a while, huh?"
She shook her head, half laughing, half incredulous. "No kidding. I thought you left for good." She leaned closer over the counter, glancing at him with curiosity. "So… what brings you back?"
Samuel hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing down at his hands. "I'm looking for Tomas. Heard he's moved."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Oh—Tomas moved up to Vista Heights, right? I think I know where." She grabbed a scrap of paper from the counter and quickly scribbled an address, pushing it toward him. "Here. That should get you to him."
Samuel took it, folding the paper carefully. "Thanks. Really. I appreciate it."
"Don't mention it," she said with a small, knowing smile. "It's been too long."
He nodded once and turned away, the address now clutched in his hand. The walk to the bus stop felt longer than he remembered, the city stretching beneath the ridge like a quilt of streets and buildings. His heart beat faster as he thought about Tomas—about what he was going to ask for, about the bills piling up, about his mother.
The bus rattled along uneven streets, jerking as it climbed toward the northern heights of the city. Samuel clutched the small scrap of paper with Tomas's address, his fingers pressing into it like it could anchor him against the tide of everything that had happened. The city below sprawled outward, familiar yet strange, as if it had shifted while he wasn't looking.
Samuel followed the directions winding through streets that felt cleaner, quieter, the houses more orderly than anything in his old neighborhood. Vista Heights stretched ahead, modest but tidy, with low walls, small gardens, and narrow driveways that hinted at a quieter, more contained life. It was the kind of neighborhood that made you aware of how far you'd come, even if you hadn't wanted to.
He approached the small apartment building, his footsteps slow and cautious. The door opened before he could knock, and a face appeared—someone he recognized but hadn't seen in years.
"Samuel?" the boy said, his eyebrows lifting in genuine surprise. "Is that really you?"
Samuel blinked, startled at the sudden familiarity. "Joseph," he said, letting the name hang for a moment, as though speaking it would confirm that it wasn't a trick of memory.
Joseph's mouth curved into a small, quick smile, eyes lighting up. "Yeah. It's been a long time. Didn't think I'd see you here."
Samuel shifted awkwardly, holding out the slip of paper with Tomas's address. "I'm looking for Tomas. You know where he is?"
Joseph leaned against the doorframe, his expression softening, but still carrying the faint edge of wariness that comes from years of knowing the streets. "He left early this morning. Should be back later. If you want, you can wait… or come back."
Samuel nodded slowly, a mix of relief and frustration pressing down on him. "Right. Thanks, Joseph. I didn't expect to run into anyone familiar here."
Joseph shrugged, eyes flicking toward the courtyard before returning to Samuel. "Life moves fast. People scatter. Some of us just end up in different corners."The two of them fell into conversation—slow and careful at first—sharing memories of the old neighborhood, the old routines, the way things used to be. Samuel mentioned cautiously the trouble with his mother, and Joseph listened, nodding with quiet attentiveness, offering small words that made the past and present collide in a way that felt real.
Hours stretched on, the sun dropping behind the low walls of Vista Heights. Tomas had not returned yet, but Samuel felt the tension in his chest loosen just slightly—the anticipation, the waiting, the thought that soon he might have someone to turn to for help, and the knowledge that nothing in Alacosta came without struggle.
The hours in the apartment dragged quietly, broken only by the occasional clatter from the kitchen or the low hum of the street outside. Samuel and Joseph talked in fits and starts, skirting the edges of old memories, half trying to catch up, half trying not to tread too close to the gaps that years had carved between them. Joseph wasn't as close to Samuel as Tomas had been, and the distance showed in the pauses, the way their laughter stumbled, the way each glanced away when the conversation faltered. Still, beneath the awkwardness, there was a thread of familiarity—a reminder of summers spent on the streets, fights survived, and small victories shared.
Later, the door creaked open, and Tomas stepped inside.
His presence was calm but alert, carrying the quiet confidence of someone who had built his own space in the world. His eyes scanned the room briefly, taking in the figure of Samuel already seated on the worn couch. Joseph's subtle nod earned a small, knowing smile. Recognition flickered in Tomas's eyes, careful but genuine, like testing the waters of a connection stretched thin over time.
"Been a while," Tomas said, voice measured, almost hesitant, carrying the burden of years and absence.
"Yeah," Samuel replied, swallowing hard. "Too long."
The air between them thickened with unspoken words. Tomas's gaze lingered on Samuel longer than necessary, noting the tension in his shoulders, the tight grip of his hands. He leaned against the doorframe, studying him. Samuel met his eyes—guarded, searching. For a heartbeat, neither spoke, the distance of years pressing down quietly but insistently.
Conversation began in small increments—where Tomas had moved, how life had shifted, streets and neighborhoods that had changed. The words came cautiously at first, then more freely, like the slow release of water from a dam. Hours passed, yet it felt like past and present had folded into this one room.
Samuel's chest tightened with the weight of things he could no longer hold back."I… I need your help," he said, voice low and raw. "It's my mom. The hospital bills. I don't have enough."
Tomas exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing in thought. "I can help—but not all of it. I can lend you twelve hundred. That's all I can manage right now."
Relief and guilt collided in Samuel's chest. He nodded, voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you. I'll pay you back. I promise."
Tomas scribbled his new number on a scrap of paper and handed it over. "Don't vanish. Keep in touch."
Samuel pocketed the money, feeling its weight settle heavily against him—a mix of hope and responsibility. He remained seated for a moment, letting the silence wrap around him, absorbing the fragile reassurance Tomas's presence had offered. Then, gathering himself, he rose, mind racing toward the hospital, heart hammering with dread and determination.
Samuel stepped off the bus onto the cracked sidewalk leading to Alacosta General. Evening had already draped itself over the city, casting a cold haze across the streets. The faint hum of traffic, the occasional shout from a passing vendor, and the distant clatter of metal gates formed a rough symphony that accompanied his every step. The money from Tomas pressed against his thigh, a fragile lifeline, and the thought of his mother lying in a ward—vulnerable and aching—drove him forward.He entered the hospital without hesitation, moving past the reception desk as the antiseptic sting of the air clawed at his nostrils. Samuel's eyes scanned the hallways for any sign of his mother.
That's when he noticed them.
Two uniformed officers stood stiffly near a general ward, their expressions cold and calculating. Inside, his mother sat propped against crisp white sheets, her eyes bloodshot, her face pale. She flinched at their presence, tense and wary, gripping the edge of her blanket like a shield.
Samuel's approach did not go unnoticed. One officer straightened and stepped toward him, voice clipped and wary. "Who are you?"
"I—I'm her son. Samuel," he said, steadying himself against the tight coil of fear in his chest. "I'm here to see her."
The officers exchanged a glance—a silent conversation carrying a pressure Samuel felt deep in his stomach. One of them, older and heavier, narrowed his eyes.
"You need to come down to the station," he said, his tone falsely benign, as though Samuel were merely being escorted. "There's a statement that must be made."
Samuel's heart thudded against his ribs. "I—I can't just leave her here alone," he said, glancing at his mother. She gave him a faint, pained nod but made no move to protest, knowing the futility of arguing with men in uniform.
The officers ignored his protest. One leaned closer, a subtle menace in his posture. "It won't take long. You'll be back soon. You can't hide from this."
Samuel swallowed hard, forcing calm into a voice that trembled despite him. "All right. All right. I'll come."
He knelt beside his mother's bed, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "I'll be back," he murmured.
She squeezed his hand faintly.
At the precinct, the air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and cleaning fluids. Samuel sat on a hard bench beneath fluorescent lights that were too bright, too sharp. Officers hovered, asking pointed questions, probing, insinuating, suggesting—without saying outright—that his mother's complaint could be undermined if he didn't cooperate.
Hours passed like slow knives. When they finally demanded bail, an amount that nearly swallowed all the money Tomas had lent him, the realization hit hard. He had to sacrifice a portion of what little he had borrowed just to free himself.
With trembling hands, Samuel counted out the notes, sliding them across the desk. Each one felt like a bitter toll paid for his mother's survival.
When he was finally released, the cool air outside hit him like a wave. Relief came, but it didn't last.
He rushed back to Alacosta General, the city now quiet in the early evening. When he entered the ward, his mother lifted her gaze—weak, but alive.
Samuel knelt beside her bed, clasping her hand."I'm back," he said softly.
She managed a faint, tired smile, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Samuel allowed himself to feel the fragile, aching relief of having come back to her.