Mom's voice pierces through the music playing in my headset.
I'm listening to Fall in Love with You by Montell Fish, letting the melody wrap around me like armor, protecting me from the real world.
I pretend not to hear her at first, but the weight of her words presses into my chest. I remove my headset slowly, bracing myself for whatever comes next.
I sit up on my bed, trying to recall the last real conversation we had.
I look toward Dad, hoping for some kind of reassurance, but he isn't even returning my gaze.
Panic creeps up my spine.
Mom moves closer, placing her hands on mine.
"We talked to Miss Edwina," she says, her voice cautious.
A sharp pang grips my stomach. So Mrs. Edwina told them about the scholarship. My heart races. I swallow the lump forming in my throat. I feel bad, guilty, even.
But anger simmers beneath my skin, overpowering every other emotion. I feel lost. I feel like I don't know who I am anymore.
I stay silent.
"What's going on, Helen?" Dad finally speaks, his voice firm but not unkind. It's the first time he's addressed me directly since our last heated argument.
What can I possibly say? How do I explain my failures to him?
A flood of memories rushes in. The first time I received the scholarship, the pride in Dad's eyes, the warmth of Mom's embrace, the sheer joy of feeling like I had done something right.
I remember Dad swinging me in the air, laughing, calling me his "brilliant girl." Mom had kissed my forehead, whispering how proud she was of me.
'Where had all of that gone?'.
"I don't know," I finally manage to whisper.
Dad sighs. "Are you still seeing that boy we warned you about?"
His tone shifts from disappointment to restrained anger. Mom shoots him a sharp look, silently warning him to tread carefully.
"Darling, is there anything you want to say to us?" Mom asks, her voice softer than I've ever heard it.
I look at her, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. I miss us. I miss the way things used to be when everything felt perfect. I want to say those words, but they lodge in my throat like a stubborn stone.
I selfishly want them to stop searching for their birth son.
I have always been enough, haven't I?
Dad's phone rings. He glances at the screen. "It's the investigator," he says, standing up to take the call, out of the room.
'They became so secretive, ever since the where about of their son can about'.
My breath catches in my chest.
It could only mean one thing, they are leaving again.
"You'll be leaving soon," I say to Mom, my voice barely above a whisper.
She takes a deep breath and cups my face gently in her hands. A small, tired smile tugs at her lips. I notice the fine lines around her eyes, the exhaustion that never quite leaves her face anymore.
"That's why you have Mrs May," she says, as if that should be enough.
I stare at her, my heart sinking.
"But she isn't you. She isn't Dad. She isn't us," I say, my voice thick with frustration.
Mom's brows furrow. "What do you mean, Helen?"
She doesn't get it. She never will.
"Mrs. May loves you," Mom insists.
"She's taken care of you since you were little."
"Yeah, I know that," I say, forcing myself to swallow my anger.
At least someone is here for me.
Dad returns, his face unreadable.
"There's a lead," he says. "We need to start packing."
I already knew they were leaving, but hearing the words out loud cements the reality of it.
I reach for my phone, my fingers trembling. I want to ask Dan if now would be a good time for us to meet.
I need to see him,
I need someone to make me feel like I matter.
Before I can type,
Dad speaks again.
"If your grades keep dropping, I'll confiscate all your devices. No phone, no laptop, no nothing. And certainly, no more Uber rides to school."
His words barely register. At this point, I wonder if that would even make a difference.
What else can break a child whose parents are always chasing a ghost?
I nod numbly.
Mom gives me a quick hug, whispering, "Be a good girl until we get back."
I watch them leave.
The moment the door closes, I put my headset back on, but the music doesn't stop the hot tears from spilling down my face.
I open my inbox.
"Please, can I come over now?" I type and press send.
Dan replies almost instantly.
A small smile tugs at my lips as I open the message.
"No."
The smile disappears.
No?
I stare at my screen in disbelief. I need to be with him. Things make sense with him. I make sense when I'm around him.
I don't wait. I order a ride, throw on a hoodie, and slip out of the house.
My parents won't even realize I'm gone.
When I arrive at Dan's house, the security guards recognize me immediately, and greets me with familiarity.
One of them escorts me inside.
I walk straight to his room, the door slightly ajar.
I step in.
And I freeze.
My breath stops.
Dan is on the bed. Naked.
He isn't alone.
A girl is beneath him, her freshly manicured nails grazing his back. I recognize those nails. I know exactly who they belong to.
Dan turns his head, his eyes widening in shock. He pulls away from her and sits up.
My worst fear is confirmed.
"Sabrina?" My voice is barely audible.
She smirks, wrapping the duvet around her naked self, her eyes twinkling with cruel amusement.
"Who let you in here?" Dan snaps, his voice laced with irritation.
I flinch.
"I told you not to come over," he continues coldly.
"You brought this on yourself."
Sabrina chuckles, and Dan laughs along with her.
The sound shatters something inside me.
I turn on my heels and walk out.
The security guard outside asks if I'm okay. I don't respond.
I walk. I don't know where I'm going, but I keep walking.
A car honks behind me.
I don't move.
For a moment, I wonder,
if something happens to me, will anyone finally care?
"Helen!"
The voice is familiar.
I hear the low hum of an engine slowing down behind me, followed by the unmistakable screech of tires coming to a halt.
I turn around.
Dom Bells.
He pulls his car over hastily, stepping out before the door even fully opens. His strides are quick, urgent, as if he's been running after me for miles.
"Helen, are you okay?" His voice is slightly breathless, but his concern is unwavering.
I look up at him, my vision blurred with unshed tears, my throat too tight to form words. And then, without thinking, without hesitation, I close the distance between us and throw myself into his arms.
He stiffens for a fraction of a second before his arms wrap around me, firm yet gentle. Steady. Safe.
His warmth seeps into me, grounding me in a way I hadn't realized I needed. I inhale deeply, catching the faint scent of coconut from his cologne, clean and familiar, like the beach on a warm evening.
He holds me like I'm something fragile, something breakable. And maybe I am.
"Do you want me to take you home?" he asks softly, his breath brushing against the top of my head.
I shake my head, barely moving.
"Do you have anyone I can call?"
Another silent shake of my head.
He sighs, a sound filled with quiet understanding, then gently takes my hand. His palm is warm against mine, his fingers slightly rough calloused from years of playing basketball, maybe.
"Alright," he murmurs. "Then we'll just drive until you're ready."
I let him lead me to his car, not questioning, not resisting. I slip into the passenger seat, pressing my head against the cool glass of the window as he starts the engine.
The city lights blur as we drive. Neon signs, headlights, street lamps, they all melt into a soft glow against the night. The steady hum of the tires on the road fills the silence between us.
"You want me to roll down the window?" he asks after a moment, glancing at me briefly.
I nod.
A second later, a gust of cool air rushes in, making me close my eyes as it fills my lungs. It's refreshing, clearing some of the heaviness pressing against my chest.
Dom reaches for the radio dial and turns it on.
A familiar talk show fills the car, the same one my parents and I used to listen to on long drives.
The host makes a dry joke, and Dom chuckles, shaking his head slightly. His laughter is deep, rich.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He has a nice laugh.
And, for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel a small smile tug at my lips. A chuckle escapes me, soft, but real.
Dom turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting mine, warm and filled with something unspoken.
"It's good to see you laugh, Helen," he says, voice gentle.
I nod, exhaling slowly. "It's good to feel like laughing."
A quiet moment passes, the kind of silence that doesn't feel empty, but rather, understanding.
I take a deep breath. "I think I'm ready to go home now," I whisper.
Dom nods once and makes a smooth U-turn.
The drive back is quieter, but not in a bad way. There's no rush, no urgency. Just the steady rhythm of the car, the cool air against my skin, and Dom's presence beside me.
As he pulls up in front of my house, I turn to him.
"Thank you," I say softly.
His smile is small, but it reaches his eyes. "Anytime, Helen."
I open the door and step out, feeling his gaze linger on me.