Chapter Two: New Spaces
1319 Words
N.B: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the creator’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The morning sun crept through the uncovered windows, spilling across Simone’s face. Her lashes fluttered, resisting the light. The floor beneath her was hard, the thin blanket Amara had packed barely cushioning her body. Across the room, curled close to his twin, Zuri stirred, her small form stretching like a cat waking from a dream.
There was no couch. No bed. No table. Nothing. Just the echo of silence in an apartment that still smelled of fresh paint and possibility.
Zionsville’s soft snores filled the space, grounding Simone in the moment. She pushed herself upright, rubbing her sore neck, her joints stiff from a night on wood. In the corner sat the last of Amara’s care: three small coolers packed with fruit slices, sandwiches, bottled water, a container of jollof rice and plantains, and a folded note.
“Eat well. Rest easy. You’re not alone.”
Simone’s fingers lingered on the paper. Amara’s handwriting carried warmth, strength, a tether across city lines.
She poured water into plastic cups and laid out breakfast. The children’s small hands reached eagerly, grateful for each bite. The silence felt companionable, broken only by the scrape of plastic forks and the steady rhythm of their chewing.
When the food was gone, Zuri lifted her eyes, bright and certain.
“Mommy, are we going to get our house stuff today?”
Simone brushed crumbs from her lap and nodded. “Yes, baby. We’re going shopping.”
Zionsville clapped his hands in delight. “I want a bed with superhero sheets!”
“And I want curtains with stars,” Zuri added firmly. “And a soft pillow.”
Simone smiled, her chest softening. “We’ll see what we can find.”
The store was bright and polished, a modern cathedral of wood and light. Lavender-scented air drifted from hidden diffusers, and displays gleamed like stage sets waiting for families to claim them.
The kids scattered instantly. Zionsville ran toward a setup of racecar beds, his laughter bouncing off the high ceiling. Zuri walked more carefully, hands on her hips like a miniature designer, inspecting sofas and rugs as though they were beneath her approval.
Simone’s cart rattled forward, her list heavy with necessity: couches, beds, kitchen appliances, curtains, a smart TV. A life rebuilt piece by piece.
“Hello there.”
She turned.
A man stood nearby, tall and broad-shouldered, stocking a display. His store badge caught the light. Black hair. Blue eyes. A strong, steady presence that immediately filled the space.
He smiled, easy but not careless. “I’m Maverick. Need help with anything?”
Simone hesitated. She wasn’t used to kindness from strangers. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Actually… yeah.”
She gestured behind her at the twins. “We just moved in. Got nothing. Floor-sleeping, picnic-living kind of situation.”
Maverick chuckled, a low sound that didn’t mock. “Say no more. Let’s build you a home.”
They started with couches. Simone considered a cream velvet sofa with walnut legs and gold-accented pillows, elegant and almost unreal to her.
“What do you think?” Maverick asked, clipboard ready.
Zionsville was already on the rug, flipping through a catalog like a small executive. Zuri tugged her mother’s hand, pointing toward a sky blue sofa in the corner.
“Mommy, that one! It looks like a cloud.”
“You think we should get that one instead?” Simone asked.
Zuri nodded with authority. “It’s soft. And it looks happy.”
Maverick grinned. “That’s one of our most comfortable. Stain resistant, too. Kid-proof.”
Simone narrowed her eyes. “You sure you’re not just saying that so we’ll buy it?”
He raised his hands. “Swear on my favorite couch. Honest truth.”
Her laugh slipped out before she could stop it. It startled her, foreign on her lips.
“Alright,” she said, giving in. “We’ll go with the happy one.”
The kids’ beds were next. Zionsville climbed onto a racecar frame, pretending to zoom, while Zuri pressed her hands reverently against a canopy bed draped in soft pink fabric.
“It feels like a princess bed,” she whispered.
“If you like it, baby, it’s yours,” Simone said, her voice warm.
Zuri’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really.”
Maverick watched quietly, something unspoken flickering in his expression.
“And you?” he asked Simone, when the kids were distracted by a rotating light display. “What kind of bed do you want?”
“Something simple,” she replied after a pause. “Big enough to stretch. Nothing too fancy.”
He jotted notes, then tilted his head. “Maybe add a chandelier. Make the simple feel special.”
She smirked. “I thought chandeliers were for people who host dinner parties.”
“Or for people who like to feel expensive when they flip a light switch.”
Her laughter rang again, fuller this time.
They moved through the aisles, from comforters to refrigerators, rugs to smart TVs. Every choice Simone made was both practical and defiant, a claim on a future no one thought she’d have. Maverick moved with her easily, never rushing, never prying.
By checkout, hours had passed. Simone leaned against the counter, watching as Maverick coordinated delivery with crisp efficiency.
“No, it all goes today. Beds, appliances, lighting. Everything. Yes, I’ll oversee it personally.” His voice carried quiet authority.
He hung up, then turned. “Everything will be in your apartment by evening. I pulled some strings.”
“You didn’t have to,” she murmured.
“I know,” he said simply. “But you looked like someone who’s had to carry too much alone.”
Her throat tightened. Gratitude pressed against the walls she’d built. She only managed a nod. “Thank you.”
The apartment transformed before her eyes. The couch glowed against the back wall. The kids’ beds, one racecar, one princess, anchored their room with joy. Her queen bed stood firm, the chandelier scattering small rainbows across bare walls.
Zionsville and Zuri squealed with delight, bouncing from mattress to mattress, voices filling the once empty rooms.
Maverick carried in the last box, setting it gently on the counter. “Need help setting up?”
“You’ve done enough,” Simone said.
He lingered, then nodded. “You’ve got good kids.”
“I know.”
“You’re a good mom.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “You don’t even know me.”
“Maybe not. But I know what it looks like to carry the world and still smile for them. That’s not nothing.”
Silence stretched, soft, charged.
Finally, Simone whispered, “I should let you go.”
Maverick nodded, stepping back. At the door, he paused. “If you need help with anything, furniture, tools, curtain trauma, I’m around.”
“Curtain trauma?” she echoed, smirking.
“Long story,” he said with a wink before disappearing.
That night, after laughter, simple dinner, and whispered prayers, Simone tucked her twins into their new beds. She sat on her own, running her fingers over the frame, her body aching but satisfied.
She pulled out the hidden folder, thick with notes, clippings, maps. Every page led back to one name:
Victoria Langley.
The woman who had stolen everything.
Simone traced the ink, her eyes burning. Piece by piece, she thought. Life by life. Until she’s ash in her own empire.
She slid the folder back under the bed, turned off the light, and let herself rest.
Her children slept soundly. The apartment glowed softly.
It wasn’t home yet. But it was becoming one.
And tomorrow, the real work would begin.
- Writer
