Chapter 1

I stood before the coffin in the mourning hall, giving one last look at my mom.

The candles swayed, reminding me of her parched lips in those final moments.

The sharp sound of high heels echoed off the marble at the entrance.

My dad said, "Zayla, I'd love you to meet someone."

My dad stood right in front of my mom's portrait, holding hands with a woman in a red dress.

*****

The candle lights reflected.

I couldn't help but stare at those red stilettos, the tips caked with fresh mud.

To get from the cemetery parking lot to the funeral hall, she had to cross a lawn that had been watered.

"She's too happy to say anything," my dad said, fidgeting with his hands, his voice carrying a strange sort of cheerfulness. "This is Sarah. From now on, she's part of our family."

Sarah Walker bent down, her perfume drowning out the sandalwood incense in the air.

She reached out, her nails painted a trendy nude pink.

"I'm Sarah," she said, flashing a picture-perfect smile, the curve of her lips looking almost calculated. "I'll take good care of you from now on."

I didn't take her hand.

She held out her palm, facing up, smooth lines, not a single callus. Clearly, she'd never lifted a finger around the house.

"My mom's not even buried yet," I said, my voice calmer than I expected. "Are you really in that much of a hurry?"

My dad's face darkened.

"Zayla!" he hissed, his voice low. "Your mom was sick for three years. I took care of her every single day. Isn't that enough? People have to move on..."

"So you started moving on the day she was diagnosed with terminal cancer?" I shot back.

The air went dead silent.

Sarah's smile froze on her face.

My dad's neck turned beet red, like a rooster being strangled.

A few relatives who hadn't left yet were all holding their breath.

My aunt, Stella Brown, clutched her prayer beads, and my cousin, Vivian Pink, kept her head down, pretending to be on her phone, even though the screen was black.

I knew they were all just there to watch the show.

To see how I, who just lost my mom, would get stomped into the ground by my own father.

"What are you even saying?" my dad finally snapped. "Sarah's from a decent family. We only got together after your mom said it was okay..."

"My mom said it was okay?" I cut him off, pointing at her photo on the altar. "Go ahead, ask her now. See if she's fine with you dragging this woman to her funeral."

Sarah's eyes grew misty.

She reached for my dad's sleeve, her voice soft. "Jeremy, don't give her a hard time. This is on me. I shouldn't have come today."

"It's not your fault," my dad said, patting her hand, then shot me a glare. "Apologize to Sarah."

I stood up.

I was shaking with grief and anger, and I almost lost my balance.

"You're the one who should be apologizing," I said, staring coldly at the man I share blood with. "When my mom was losing all her hair from chemo, you were busy getting manicures with her.

"When my mom was in so much pain that she couldn't sleep a single night, you were out celebrating birthdays with her.

"And now that my mom's gone, you couldn't even leave her a shred of dignity."

I pulled a folded piece of paper out of my pocket and unfolded it.

It was a copy of a bank statement.

"From last October to this March," I spelled out every word, "you made twelve separate transfers to Sarah, totaling 300 thousand dollars. The notes say: 'Babe's new bag,' 'Babe's trip,' 'Babe's happy.'"

My dad's face went ghostly pale.

"Where did you get that?" he lunged for the paper, trying to snatch it away.

I stepped back, holding the paper up high.

"Mom gave it to me," I said, watching his face turn even paler. "The week before she passed, she had me go to the bank and print out the statement.

"She told me, 'Zayla, remember these numbers. It's okay to be naive, but don't ever let yourself be blind.'"

Sarah's lips started to tremble.

She probably never thought that the dying woman in that hospital bed would leave behind a final move like this.

"That money... I gave it to Sarah because she was in a bind," my dad blurted out, grasping for any excuse. "Her brother got sick, needed surgery..."

"Her brother moved overseas three years ago," I smirked. "Need me to dig up his travel records for you?"

The silence was suffocating.

All we could hear was Stella's prayer, like a countdown timer running out.

Suddenly, Sarah buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling.

"Jeremy, I'm so sorry... I lied to you," she bawled, crying her eyes out. "I didn't spend that money on my brother.

"But I had no choice. My ex used to beat me, and when I finally escaped, I didn't have a penny to my name..."

"So you went after a man who was already married?" Vivian finally snapped. "And you waited until his wife was on her deathbed to make your move?"

"That's enough!" my dad roared.

He was practically shaking with rage, eyes shot through with red.

"Zayla, give me that bank statement," he demanded, his voice thick with anger. "This is over. Sarah is family now, whether you like it or not."

I didn't move.

"And if I don't?" I shot back.

"Then get the hell out of this house," he snapped. "Your mom's treatment wiped out our savings. Every penny in this family is in my name now.

"You're about to graduate from college. If you're so tough, go make your own way."