Chapter one
The hospital smelled the same every day—antiseptic and something underneath it I’d never quite managed to name. It was the particular stillness of a place where nothing was allowed to change too quickly.
I’d learned to arrange my visits around my shifts: an hour during lunch, another after closing. Just enough time to sit beside my mother’s bed and pretend the sound of the machines was something other than a countdown.
Her hand was warm in mine, which still startled me, as though some part of me expected her to feel as still as she looked.
“You’d hate how busy the café’s been,” I told her. “Mrs. Rachel keeps asking after you. I told her you’re resting. She sends her love every time, like you’re just on holiday somewhere.”
The machines continued beeping, steady and uninterested.
I checked my watch. Twenty minutes left before I had to return to the counter. I smoothed the blanket over my mother’s shoulder and continued talking about Mia’s exams, the weather, and anything else that made our lives feel almost normal.
My phone buzzed against the chair.
Mia’s name flashed across the screen.
I almost let it go to voicemail. She knew I visited during my lunch break and rarely called unless something was wrong. But when it buzzed again, I answered.
“Mia?”
“Camille—someone broke in.”
Her voice was ragged, breathless.
“What? Broke into what?”
“The house.” She struggled to catch her breath. “Everything’s destroyed. The furniture, the kitchen, Dad’s things. They tore everything apart.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Where are you? Are you safe? Where’s Dad?”
“I’m outside. I didn’t go back in. Dad’s not here, and he isn’t answering his phone.”
“Stay outside. Don’t go back in. I’m coming, Mia.”
“Camille, there was a note.”
I went still.
“What note?”
“They left it inside. It had Dad’s name on it. It said—”
“Don’t read it to me over the phone. Just stay where you are.”
I ended the call and stood abruptly, pressing a kiss to my mother’s forehead.
“I have to go, Mama. I’ll be back soon.”
The promise came automatically.
I barely remembered leaving the hospital. By the time I pulled out of the parking lot, my hands were shaking against the steering wheel.
My father had been gambling for years. First, it was small amounts he promised he’d win back. Then came the unpaid bills, the calls from unfamiliar numbers, and the people who no longer bothered pretending they were calling to discuss repayment politely.
I’d convinced myself we still had time. Time to pay something back. Time for him to stop. Time for the threats to end before they became something worse.
But a broken door changed everything.
This was never just about late payments.
When I reached the house, Mia was sitting on the curb across the street, staring at our front door, which hung crookedly on its hinges.
I hurried toward her.
“Mia.”
She looked up, and her composure crumbled.
I pulled her into my arms. She was trembling so badly I could feel it through our coats.
“I’m here,” I whispered. “I’ve got you.”
“I didn’t know what to do. I came home, saw the door, and just stood here. I didn’t go inside, Camille.”
“You did the right thing.” I held her tighter. “You did exactly the right thing.”
My gaze shifted to the house. A curtain hung crookedly in the front window, and shattered glass littered the ground.
Someone had forced their way inside.
Someone had wanted us to be afraid.
“Did you call the police?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Okay. We’ll deal with that. Where’s the note?”
Mia reached into her coat pocket and handed me a crumpled piece of paper.
My fingers felt numb as I unfolded it.
The message was short.
Tell your father his time is running out. Next time, we won’t just break things.
I read it twice.
The words didn’t change.
I looked at Mia, then back at the house. I thought of my mother lying unconscious in a hospital bed, the bills piling up at home, and my father, who had disappeared when we needed him most.
What were we supposed to do now?
I’d spent months trying to keep our lives from falling apart, believing that if I worked hard enough and sacrificed enough, I could hold everything together until things got better.
But I couldn’t work my way out of a threat like this. I couldn’t keep pretending my father’s choices wouldn’t destroy us.
And I couldn’t promise Mia everything would be fine when I had no idea whether it would be.
I folded the note and slipped it into my pocket.
For the first time, I understood that whatever happened next, our lives would never be the same.
We had run out of time.
