Chapter 1
After six years embedded in a criminal syndicate, I was back on the streets, dragging my bad leg as I worked a late-night food cart.
That was when my mom, Courtney Dixon, appeared out of nowhere, clutching the hand of a little boy I didn't recognize.
She stared at me in disbelief.
"When did you get back?" she murmured. "You vanished for six whole years. Why didn't you come home after you returned?"
I didn't say a word. I just kept my face blank, rhythmically tossing the food in my skillet.
I didn't pause until the order was boxed up and handed to my waiting customer.
Only then did I silently pack up my station, gripping the handle of my cart as I limped away, ready to head back to my apartment.
But Courtney wasn't going to let it go. Her voice broke as she shouted after me, "Do you really hate me that much? I looked for you for six years, and you won't even look at me? You won't even call me Mom?"
My steps faltered for a fraction of a second, but I kept pushing the cart forward.
She was wrong.
I didn't hate her.
After all, love and hate are two sides of the same coin.
Gone was the little girl who had loved her mother with every fiber of her being and hated her with that same desperate passion.
That girl had vanished on a stormy night years ago, right after her mother slapped her hard enough to bruise, as her mother screamed into the downpour that she was entitled to a new life, too.
*****
When I refused to speak, Courtney finally lost it.
She lunged in front of my cart, desperately blocking my path.
"If you want to leave tonight, you're going to have to run me over to do it," she cried.
Her movements caught my eye, causing me to falter and bring the cart to a halt.
It wasn't out of love.
I just didn't want to commit a crime. After six years of living neck-deep in the underworld, I was sick to death of breaking the law.
For over a thousand dark days, I had seen blood. Every single day, I watched breathing people get snuffed out right in front of my eyes.
Seeing me stop, Courtney approached me, her whole body trembling.
"Tell me where you're staying," she pleaded. "I'll help you pack your things, and you're coming home with me."
I watched her lips move, playing the part perfectly.
Without a change in expression, I reached into the compartment of my cart and pulled out a small whiteboard.
The bright red marker across it read: [I'm deaf. Cash App or Venmo only. Write your order on the board.]
I saw her eyes flicker with shock.
Without another glance, I pushed my cart in a wide arc, keeping a solid six feet between us as I headed home.
She didn't follow me.
Even if she had, I wouldn't have cared.
When I finally reached my run-down apartment complex, I chained up the cart downstairs and slowly made my way up the steps.
The first thing I did when I unlocked my door was walk over to the six funeral portraits of men and women, young and old. I lit a candle, watching the flame flicker over their faces.
Then, I slowly unbuckled my left prosthetic leg.
The skin where the silicone met my thigh was raw and bleeding, but I didn't even flinch. It was as if my nerves had been severed. Calmly, I grabbed a bottle of iodine, sterilized the open wounds, and rubbed on some healing ointment.
Once I was done, I splashed some freezing water on my face and collapsed into bed.
I hadn't dreamed in years. But maybe running into Courtney had triggered something, because that night, I was dragged fifteen years into the past.
In the dream, I was a little girl with a heavy backpack, running up to Courtney as she pushed her street food cart.
"Mom, let me help you set up," I yelled.