When the ashes bloom

Chapter 17: Home

By the time Amara got home, the sky had already turned dark.

She pushed open the front door and stepped inside, dropping her bag onto the small table near the entrance.

"I'm home."

"You're late."

Her mother's voice came from the kitchen.

Amara slipped off her shoes.

"Good evening to you too, Mum."

Her mother appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

"You said you would be home earlier."

"I stayed back at work."

Her mother's eyes immediately narrowed.

"Why?"

Amara sighed.

"Because I had work to finish."

"At Blackwood Holdings?"

"Yes."

Her mother went quiet.

That reaction again.

Amara had noticed it from the first day she mentioned Kian's company.

Every time she said the name Blackwood, her mother became tense.

Amara walked into the kitchen.

"Mum."

"Hmm?"

"Do you know Kian Blackwood?"

Her mother's hand stopped moving.

It was only for a second.

But Amara noticed.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because you keep telling me to stay away from him."

"I told you to be careful."

"That's not the same thing."

Her mother looked away.

"Amara, please. Just listen to me."

"I am listening."

"No. You're asking questions."

"Because nobody is giving me answers."

Her mother's expression softened.

For a moment, she looked less like a worried mother and more like someone carrying a memory she desperately wanted to forget.

"Your father used to ask questions too," she said quietly.

Amara froze.

"What questions?"

Her mother didn't answer.

Instead, she turned back toward the stove.

"Food is ready."

"Mum."

"Amara, please."

She stopped.

Something about her mother's voice made her realize pushing harder wouldn't help.

Not tonight.

She sat at the table.

A few minutes later, her mother placed a plate in front of her.

They ate mostly in silence.

Then her mother spoke.

"How is work?"

"Fine."

"Your boss?"

Amara almost smiled.

"Kian?"

Her mother nodded.

"He's... complicated."

"How?"

"I don't know."

Amara thought about him.

The way he always seemed to notice when she was uncomfortable.

The way he sometimes appeared cold but occasionally let small pieces of kindness slip through.

And the way he looked at her whenever she mentioned her father.

"He knows something," Amara said.

Her mother put down her spoon.

"About what?"

"My father."

Silence.

Amara watched her carefully.

"You know he does."

Her mother looked down.

"I know your father worked with people who weren't good for him."

"Daniel?"

Her mother's eyes snapped toward her.

Amara's heart skipped.

"How do you know that name?"

"I found it."

"Where?"

"At work."

Her mother stood abruptly.

"Amara, you need to stop."

"Stop what?"

"Looking into this."

"Why?"

Her mother's eyes filled with something Amara couldn't quite identify.

Fear.

"Because your father already paid the price for knowing too much."

The words hung between them.

Amara slowly pushed her plate away.

"What does that mean?"

Her mother shook her head.

"I can't talk about it."

"Then who can?"

No answer.

Later that night, Amara lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

Her mother's words wouldn't leave her mind.

Neither would Kian's.

Not everyone asking is looking for the truth.

She reached for her notebook.

The photograph was still inside.

She turned it over.

Ask about Daniel.

For several minutes, she simply stared at those words.

Then she noticed something else.

There was a faint mark underneath the handwriting.

A date.

October 17, 2020.

Amara's eyes widened.

Her father had died in 2020.

She sat up slowly.

Maybe the photograph wasn't just a warning.

Maybe it was a clue.

And someone had left it where they knew she would find it.