Chapter 1
Five years ago, the woman I loved most threw me out of the country.
Five years later, I finally got to come home.
I didn't love Olivia Sinclair anymore.
But everyone still shot me warning glances.
"Andrew, are you still trying to mess with Olivia? Still trying to ruin things between her and William?"
"Five years abroad and he still hasn't learned his lesson. Olivia's just too soft-hearted. She never should've let him come back."
"Exactly, a bad seed like him should've been locked up or just died overseas."
I just stood there, silent, watching them.
But later, I heard some news.
The moment I got the news, I just completely broke down.
Under my breath, I muttered.
"Mom I came back too late."
*****
The plane touched down at five in the morning.
Riverdale was still shrouded in darkness, the runway lights stretching out in two icy white lines.
I closed the last email on my phone and unbuckled my seatbelt.
The first-class flight attendant bent down to hand me my coat, her fingers flinching slightly when they brushed my sleeve.
Maybe she recognized the brand.
Whatever.
I draped my coat over my arm, grabbed my carry-on, and stepped out of the cabin.
At the end of the jet bridge, Michael Lane was already waiting for me.
He had on a long black trench coat, the earbud cord dangling from his collar, one hand shoved in his pocket. When he saw me, he nodded at me.
"Mr. Carter, the car's waiting in the VIP lane," he said.
I didn't say a word, just followed him.
Five years had passed.
The air in Riverdale hadn't changed, a damp, chilly bite that always came with early autumn.
Outside the terminal, a black Maybach was parked right up front.
The driver opened the door, and I bent down to get in.
Michael sat in the front passenger seat, turned slightly toward me. "The hotel's all set, a lake-view suite. You've got a meeting at three tomorrow afternoon..."
I cut him off. "Not going to the hotel yet."
"Where to?" Michael asked.
I pulled a slip of paper from my pocket, it had an address written on it.
In the southern part of town, an old residential area, 17 Maple Grove Road.
My mom had lived there for twenty years.
Michael glanced at the slip of paper and said nothing more.
The car glided silently into the night.
Riverdale had changed a lot.
There were three new overpasses now, and the neon signs in the business district kept changing, one after another.
I leaned back in my seat, watching the neon lights flash by outside the window.
Suddenly, a scene flashed through my mind.
Five years ago, I was on this same road.
Olivia was sitting next to me, dressed in a white dress, her hair draped over her shoulders.
She held out a plane ticket to me.
"Andrew, go," Olivia said quietly.
Her voice was so soft, one couldn't tell what she was feeling.
"Go abroad. Don't come back."
Back then, I was twenty-three, dead broke, and to her family, I was nothing more than a stray dog.
I looked at her, my voice barely steady. "So you want me gone too?"
She kept her eyes averted, refusing to meet my gaze.
The streetlamp threw a cold, pale glow across her face, making her look almost unreal.
"Yeah." Olivia barely replied.
It was just that one word.
I didn't cry, didn't throw a fit.
I took the ticket and stepped out of the car.
Her car pulled away, the taillights shrinking into a single red dot before disappearing at the corner.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, for what felt like forever.
That was the only time in my life I ever truly begged someone.
And it was the last time.
*****
By the time the car turned onto the Maple Grove Road, the sky was already light.
I rolled down the window.
Cold air rushed in, bringing with it a whiff of something old and familiar.
The old sycamore trees were still standing, most of their leaves already fallen and piled up along the curb, making a soft rustling sound when stepped on.
"We're here," Michael said.
I pushed open the car door and stepped out onto the curb.
Building 17.
Six floors, no elevator, and patches of dull gray concrete showing where the tiles had fallen off the outer wall.
I looked up at the fifth floor.
The windows were dark and empty.
Not a single light was on.
No clothesline, no flower pots, nothing at all on the balcony.
My heart suddenly dropped.
I started up the stairs.
Half the lights in the hallway were busted, some flickering, some dead. The steps were so worn they practically gleamed.
At the second-floor landing, an old guy came down the stairs. He glanced at me.
Then he gave me another look.
"Who are you looking for?" he asked.
"502, Helen Carter," I said.
The old man paused, caught off guard.
He looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.
"Hey, are you her..." he started.
"I'm her son," I said.
The old man's face changed.
It was a subtle shift.
His lips turned down a bit, his brows drew together, and his eyes went from sizing me up to something I couldn't quite read.
Was it sympathy?
Or maybe just awkwardness?
"Hey, kid," he said, his voice dropping.
"Helen, she left."
I didn't understand what he meant.
"Gone? Did she move out? Where did she go?" I asked, my voice shaky.
The old man shook his head.
"No, she didn't move out. She's she's passed away," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"It happened two years ago," he added.
I stood there in the hallway.
One of the sensor lights flickered out, leaving just a dim yellow glow above me.
The old man was still talking, his mouth opening and closing, but I couldn't make out a single word.
It was like the world went silent.
All I could hear was a harsh ringing in my ears, my heart pounding so hard in my chest I could barely breathe.
Two years. Two whole years.
My mom had been dead for two years.
No one told me. Not a single soul.
My knee hit the stair railing, but I didn't feel a thing.
I slid down the wall, my back pressed against it.
I sat there on the steps.
There was only one thing I could say.
I just kept repeating it, over and over.
"Mom I came back too late..."
"Mom, I'm home..."