Episode 1
1029 Words
The apartment was dark when I got home.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Dad never sat in the dark.
I slipped off my shoes and closed the front door quietly behind me. The only light came from the television in the living room, throwing pale blue shadows across the walls.
"Dad?"
No answer.
A strange feeling settled in my stomach.
He never ignored me. Not on Thursdays.
Thursday was our day. No matter how exhausting my hospital shifts got, I always stopped by after work with groceries. We cooked together, complained about the electricity bills, laughed about my terrible singing, and pretended life wasn't as hard as it really was.
It was the one thing in my week I never canceled.
I balanced the grocery bag against my hip and walked toward the kitchen.
"Dad, if you're hiding because you forgot to charge your phone again, I swear..." The words stopped in my throat.
He was standing by the sink with his back to me.
His shoulders were shaking.
For a second I thought he was laughing.
Then I heard it.
A sob.
My father was crying.
I had watched this man lose his business. I had stood beside him at my mother's grave. I had seen creditors bang on our front door while the neighbors pretended not to hear. Through all of it, he had never once broken down in front of me.
I set the grocery bag on the floor.
"Dad?"
He wiped his face fast. When he turned around he was already smiling.
Too fast. Too bright.
"My nurse is home." His voice was cheerful in that way that meant the opposite.
I walked straight to him.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
"You've been crying."
"I cut onions." I looked around the kitchen, not a single onion anywhere.
"You hate onions."
"I started liking them."
"Liar." He laughed softly.
"There she is. My little detective." I wasn't smiling.
Neither was he. Not really.
The silence between us stretched until it became uncomfortable.
Finally, he sighed.
"I'm just tired." I looked at his face carefully. The wrinkles around his eyes seemed deeper than they were yesterday. His beard had grown unevenly. There were dark circles beneath his eyes.
He looked old. Not in years.
In defeat.
I hated that look more than anything.
"Dad...."
"I'm okay."
"You don't have to keep saying that."
His smile slipped for just a second.
"I don't want you worrying about me."
"Too late."
I reached for his hand.
He flinched.
My eyes dropped immediately.
His knuckles were bruised. Fresh bruises. The kind that didn't come from falling.
"What happened?"
"I fell."
"You've never lied well." He gently pulled his hand away.
"I said, I'm fine." Something in his voice made me stop pushing. Not because it was angry. Because it sounded final. Like a man trying to memorize a conversation so he could keep it later.
He cleared his throat.
"Sit down. Let me see what you brought."
For the next thirty minutes, we pretended everything was normal.
He laughed when I burned the rice.
"You'll never find a husband cooking like this."
"I don't need one. I have you."
His laughter faded.
"I won't always be here, Elena."
I pointed my spoon at him.
"You're banned from saying dramatic things after dinner."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
He smiled, but his eyes were wet.
"I hope so." Then his phone buzzed.
Face down on the table. Screen lighting up.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
The color drained from his face.
It stopped. Then rang again. Then again.
Three times in less than a minute.
He didn't answer. He just stared at it until it went silent.
"Dad?" He flipped it over and stood up.
"You should go. It's late." I blinked.
"I just got here."
"You have work tomorrow."
"So?"
"Go home, Elena." His voice cracked on my name.
I had never heard it c***k like that before.
"You've never chased me out."
"I know."
"Then why now?" He looked away. Because he couldn't look at me.
I didn't argue. I just hugged him instead.
His body stiffened. Then his arms came around me and held on too tightly, the way you hold something you know you're about to lose.
"You smell like antiseptic," he muttered into my hair.
"Fourteen hours at the hospital."
"I know." He kissed the top of my head. "I'm proud of you."
"You say that every week."
"I don't say it enough."
When I finally stepped back he was wearing that brave smile again. The one that worked hard to convince me everything would be fine.
At the door I looked back one last time.
He was still standing exactly where I had left him, watching me with his hand raised in a small wave.
I waved back.
Neither of us knew it would be the last time.
The apartment felt unbearably quiet after Elena left.
Brian stood completely still until he heard the building's front door close below.
Only then did he let the smile go.
His phone buzzed again. UNKNOWN NUMBER.
He answered it this time.
"You've had six months, Mr. Ricci." The voice on the other end was calm. Almost bored.
"I just need one more week."
"You've said that every week."
Brian swallowed.
"My daughter knows nothing about any of this."
"She doesn't."
"Please..."
"Come willingly." The voice didn't change. "That's the only option left."
"And if I don't?"A short silence.
Then...." We know where Nurse Elena Ricci lives." Brian's legs nearly gave out beneath him.
The call ended.
He stood in the quiet kitchen for a long moment, looking at the family photograph on the wall. His late wife. Elena. A younger Marco. Himself. A family that had already survived too much.
He picked up the frame and ran his thumb across Elena's face.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Not because he had borrowed the money. Not because of what was about to happen to him.
But because some debts don't end with the person who made them.
He put the frame down. Grabbed his coat. Locked the apartment behind him.
And walked out into the rain toward the men who were already waiting.
- Writer
