The car pulled outside Samara's home, wheels crunching against gravel, doing little to hide the fact that her mother had heard her arrival before Samara had even had a chance to lay eyes on the home.
It was early in the afternoon, people walked down the street, uncaring of whoever was about to step out of the car.
Faces unfamiliar or long forgotten past, but Samara paid no mind to it.
She couldn't pay attention to anything but the look on her mother's face as she turned her head to look at her.
Standing. Staring. Her oppressive glare seemed to burn through the side of the car.
"GET OUT OF THE DAMN CAR, SAMARA!" She yelled, her voice cutting through the car like a shockwave, drawing the attention of a random person as the car door opened. She stepped out, her face a mask of unreadable expression as she stepped cautiously towards the front door.
Then she was face to face with her.
Her mother.
'God, why does it feel like I'm facing the pope or something?' She cursed in her mind as she watched her mother study her face for a moment before turning away and walking back into the house.
She knew to follow.
She shut the door behind herself and made her way inside, the look the same as she remembered but held no warmth now.
Before she could even sit down, her mother was on her.
"Explain yourself now." She demanded
She went to speak, but her mother cut her off.
"And don't lie to me..." she added, sitting down across from Samara
Samara stood there, eyes burning with frustration, her hands gripping the edge of the chair. She had known this conversation was coming, but she never imagined it would feel like this, like she was a child again, under her mother's thumb.
She took a deep breath, the words she had rehearsed finally tumbling out, a healthy truth and a lie.
"I'm seeing Professor Harris, Ma, yes... But it's not what you think. It's not affecting my studies, I swear. It's actually helping me. She's offering me the best opportunities, extra lessons to fast-track me through my program. I'm getting ahead, I'm ahead of everyone. I'm not like the other students, and she knows that."
Her mother scoffed, cutting her off before she could continue.
"I don't care about your opportunities, Samara. You think I'm stupid? No one should be dating while they're in college. You're supposed to focus on your degree. Everything else can wait." She paused, sitting down across from her, her eyes cold as ice.
"I didn't raise you to go off and get distracted by some old coochie! I need you to con.cen.trate." she said, slapping her leg
Samara's pulse quickened, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
"You don't get it. I'm doing fine. Better than fine. You don't care that what I do makes me happy, you can't control everything I do."
Her mother's lips tightened, and she leaned forward, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous tone.
"I don't want you out there, far away, thinking you know better. Doing something stupid that'll hurt your future. You need to come back to Baltimore. Study at UB or Coppin, somewhere close. Somewhere I can keep an eye on you."
The suggestion hit Samara like a slap in the face, and her anger flared. She shot up from her seat, glaring down at her mother, eyes flashing with fury.
"You think that's what this is about? You just want to control me, because you don't think I have common sense? 'You want to make sure I don't get distracted.' Why, Mom? Why can't you just let me live my life? I'm smart, I'm capable. I've been doing just fine on my own. So why can't you see that? Why do you think you need to keep me under your thumb?"
Her mother's face twisted in fury. Without a word, she stood up and slapped Samara across the face, the sharp sting sending a wave of shock through Samara's body. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she held her ground, refusing to back down.
"You don't understand anything," her mother spat.
"I don't care what you want. This isn't about you. It's about me. It's about my plan for you—my five-year plan. Get your degree, come home, and be a defense attorney. That's what you're going to do. No arguments."
Samara's eyes burned with confusion and anger.
"Why? Why do you want me to be a defense attorney? I'm capable of being a prosecutor. I've told you this. You've seen it. Why would you want to force me away from that? this is about your dreams, not mine."
"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT IT IS! I NEED YO-" she paused rethinking her words, "I need you to just do this for me..." she began looking to Samara for reassurance
But there was none.
"So you don't care I took an internship with the DA's office and was about to be an actual prosecutor on a case because of her, with her, Clair, that lady that snitched, she was the one we were trying to take down?"
"You want !" Her mother's eyes went wide, she'd already struck her once and she'd surely do it again. Samara barely had time to react before her mother was in her face, her voice slicing through the air like a whip, angry.
"You stupid little girl," her mother sneered, her words venomous.
"You really think that internship got you anything? You really think you impressed someone? Just like I told you, it was nothing. You were nothing to them, to her. That woman you're fucking used you to do her work for her, you said it yourself! AND YOU DIDN'T WIN ANYTHING, THAT WOMAN CAME TO OUR HOME AND TOLD ME EVERYTHING AND YOU THINK I CARE SHE WAS THE ONE IN THE WRONG, SHE OBVIOUSLY GOT AWAY WITH IT!"
"You are a dummy, really Samara, I thought I raised you better, you didn't win anything, prosecution never wins. They don't get asked to take cases or get paid to do any damn thing but talk and lie-"
"Lie! What the hell do you think defense does?" Samara's jaw clenched, "I almost made it into the courtroom. I was close," she shot back, her voice shaking but strong.
"Closer than most people my age. And you know why? Because I'm good, professor Harris sees that, but Clair's crazy criminal ass ruined it, Ma. I worked for it. I almost had it, and you don't care I actually enjoyed any of it or managed to get the opportunities in the first place "
Her mother let out a cruel laugh, shaking her head, she'd ignored everything she said. "No, you fucked your teacher for it."
Samara recoiled as if she had been slapped again. Her mouth parted in shock, rage building so quickly inside her that she thought she might explode.
Her mother didn't care.
"Are you serious..."
" That's what you think of me? That I just spread my legs for everything I've got, you don't think that I at least tried?" she waited for an answer she knew she didn't want
Her mother didn't speak, but it told her all she needed.
Her mother folded her arms, her expression dark. "How hard did you really try, huh? What did you really do that was so great? Because from where I'm standing, you're just some girl screwing her professor and calling it success. And I really should have called sooner, I should have told your ass to come home last week! But I gave you some time, and obviously you keep making poor choices."
Samara stepped forward, breathing hard. "I got close, Mom. I got damn close to being in that courtroom, to prove myself. Proving a point even if I didn't win? And you know who read the case... who noted every single detail, every single little thing that could help us win?" She jabbed a finger into her own chest.
"Me. My work. My talent. But you, you're too worried about what some criminal told you instead of listening to me, your daughter, about what's actually helping me!"
Her mother's face twisted in disgust. "You're done in D.C. You're coming back to Baltimore, and that's final. You wanna play lawyer? Fine. You'll do it on my terms. When you finish this semester at Howard, that's it. You're transferring to UB, where I can watch you."
Samara's stomach dropped, the words hitting her like a brick wall. She stared at her mother, hoping, begging, for even a flicker of reconsideration in her expression. But there was nothing.
No doubt, no hesitation. Just certainty.
Her hands curled into fists. "You can't do this to me."
Her mother gave a humorless smirk. "Watch me."
Samara felt something crack inside her. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed up the stairs, her steps echoing through the house. She threw her bedroom door open, expecting it to feel like some kind of refuge, but instead—her stomach turned.
There, on her bed, sat a neat stack of books.
Her breath hitched as she picked them up, one by one.
Defense Lawyer Confidential.
Trial Practice Manual for Criminal Defense Lawyers.
The E-Myth Attorney: Why Most Legal Practices Don't Work and What to Do About It.
Storytelling for Lawyers.
Her mother had been planning this, how long ago did Clair tell her?
A bitter laugh bubbled up inside her as she stared at the covers, her vision blurring. Then, with a furious yell, she threw the books across the room. They hit the wall with a heavy thud, pages fluttering, spines cracking.
She wanted to scream. To let it out. To rage, to destroy something.
But she couldn't.
She felt like a child. A teenager. Some version of herself that had learned long ago that screaming would only make things worse.
She stood there, fists clenched, chest heaving, swallowing back the noise threatening to escape her throat.
Because if she screamed, her mother would come upstairs. And she would beat her ass.
She sat on the edge of her bed, looking around herself, trying to figure out an escape. An excuse.
Her mother meant it.
She was getting transferred.
—
"Tazara, could you stay after class today? I would like to discuss some of your responses on the recent assignment." Kamala asked as she looked among the people packing up to leave the classroom
"Sure" tazara said, slightly confused, Kamala never asked to speak to her after class, it was usually Samara being asked. But considering the run she'd had with the idea of being looked after by Claire, she wasn't too keen on jumping for joy about it.
Tazara knew it was likely about Samara and her storming out of class.
Once everyone had left, she made her way to the front of class, Kamala paid attention to the papers on her desk for a moment before she looked up.
"I'll assume she told you about her mother, correct?" She asked as tazara shook her head
"Yeah, she's not taking it well, she left to pack..."
"Well then she's probably already left then... Hmm. Do you know anything about her mom?" She asked as tazara's eye raised in suspicion, but she figured she only asked to help
"Um, she isn't really a bad mother to Samara, or hasn't been from what I've seen and been told. She loves Samara, but she's not the niece at suggesting career paths. She doesn't want Samara working in prosecution. She thought letting her go to DC, be on her own, and see the 'injustice of the world in the political land' and that would make her want to do that sort of thing"
"Well, we see how well that worked..." Kamala said sarcastically as she began to gather the papers on her desk
"Yeah, but Samara isn't exactly good at telling people no, especially her mother. Her mom isn't crazy like she makes her out to be a little mean, yea, but she doesn't think she's serious"
"Well whatever the case is i'll be down there with her for the time being, I told her I would have a hotel room waiting if she needed an escape, so i'll be driving down later this evening. I do hope all is well though w-" Kamala began before the sound of Tazara's buzzing phone echoed in the room from her pocket
She pulled her phone out and looked down.
"Samara's calling" She said as she answered and brought the phone to her ear
Tazara barely had time to say hello before Samara's voice exploded through the phone.
"She's transferring me to UB when the semester's up! University of Baltimore!" Samara's words were rushed, frantic, her breath coming fast and uneven. "She planned this! She knew what Claire told me, she's known for weeks, probably? And she didn't say a damn word until now!"
Tazara opened her mouth to respond, but Samara kept going.
"And you know what else?" Her voice cracked, full of something raw and broken.
"She put books on my bed. Books, Tazara. Fucking books on how to be a defense attorney. Like I'm just supposed to sit here and accept it. Like she's already made the choice for me, and I don't get a say. I—" She sucked in a breath, her voice dropping, suddenly quiet and terrifying.
"I might just get rid of myself."
Tazara's stomach dropped. "Samara, slow down. Kamala's here, she's on the phone with me."
There was a pause, then Samara's voice came through, desperate. "Where is she? Is she in Baltimore yet? Or at least on the way? I need to go out right now."
Kamala exhaled sharply. "I was just about to leave," she admitted, regretting her tone.
Samara let out a humorless laugh, more like a choked sob. "Figures. I might just leave and come back on my own. She's serious about cutting me off if I stay at Howard. Like, I mean it, Tazara, she's gonna do it. No money, no support, nothing."
Tazara glanced at Kamala, unsure of what to say. "What are you gonna do?"
"I don't fucking know," Samara admitted, voice trembling. "Get a job? Something? I gotta figure this out fast, because—"
A muffled yell cut through the call.
"Bring your ass here now!"
Tazara and Kamala both froze. Then, click.
The line went dead.
Kamala closed her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. "Jesus Christ."
Tazara let out a slow breath, scratching the back of her head. "That didn't sound good."
Kamala sighed, rubbing her temples. "No, it didn't." She straightened, already grabbing her bag. "Alright. Have a nice evening, Tazara. Try calling her back, please."
Tazara gave a tight nod as Kamala left the classroom.
—
By the time Kamala got home, she was moving on autopilot. She grabbed a small bag, packing just the essentials, clothes, chargers, a few files she couldn't leave behind.
By sundown, she was already on the road, her hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than usual.
She was getting there tonight. She'd already booked the hotel, about a five-minute drive from Samara's home.
—
Kamala's grip on the steering wheel tightened as her thoughts spiraled.
If Samara caved... if she let her mother control her future...
Kamala could see it now. A slow, inevitable transformation. Samara, forced into defense work, reshaped into something unrecognizable. At first, it would be small things, cutting corners, bending the truth, learning to justify the unjustifiable. But then? She could end up like Claire.
Stealing. Hiding. Erasing evidence.
Lying to win.
Killing to win.
The thought made Kamala's stomach churn. Her hands shook on the wheel, and the car swerved slightly before she corrected it.
No.
Don't go there.
God, she hated Claire.
Not just for the things she'd done so long ago, but for what she had done now, this petty, meaningless jab that had upended Samara's entire life. For what? Claire got nothing out of this but satisfaction at watching someone else break.
And now, if Samara's mother really followed through, if she truly cut her off... What then?
Kamala's mind raced. Scholarships. There were some that could help, but not enough, not for all of Samara's years at Howard. Kamala couldn't pay for it either, not entirely. Maybe, maybe, there was some merit-based scholarship she could qualify for. But those were rare. So damn rare. And usually? They were for students who hadn't even started college yet.
By the time Kamala forced herself to stop thinking, she was already pulling into the parking lot of the hotel. The reality of it all settled over her like a weight.
She grabbed her bag, checked in, and made her way to her room. The moment she stepped inside, she tossed her bag on the bed and pulled out her phone.
One missed call.
From Samara.
Ten minutes ago.
Kamala frowned. If things were as bad as they seemed, she would've expected more than one missed call. That was a bad sign.
She called back.
The second Samara picked up, her voice flooded the line in a panicked, incoherent ramble.
"—and she just threw them out, Kamala. Just tossed them like they were nothing, like I was nothing, and then she said—God, she said—" Samara's words blurred together, tumbling out too fast, erratic.
"Samara," Kamala interrupted, voice firm. "Slow down. Tell me what's happening."
But Samara didn't stop. Her words were disjointed. In the background, Kamala could hear the rush of passing cars, the occasional blare of a horn.
Her stomach dropped.
"Where are you?" Kamala demanded.
No answer. Just more rambling.
Without hesitating, Kamala switched to FaceTime. The call connected, and suddenly, she could see Samara.
Walking the streets.
No coat.
No bag.
Nothing.
Kamala's breath caught in her throat. "Samara."
Samara blinked, finally registering that Kamala was looking at her.
Then, in a rushed, breathless confession, she blurted out, "She kicked me out."
Kamala's heart slammed against her ribs.
"She what?"
Samara's eyes seemed sunken in as she stared at Kamala, her eyebrows never moving from their arched position as her head bobbed and swayed in the camera.
"She took everything, my ID, my cards, my clothes, everything except my phone. She said..." Samara swallowed hard, her voice trembling.
"She said I could call when I 'came to my senses.'"
Kamala clenched her jaw, rage flaring through her. "Tell me where you are."
Samara glanced around, blinking hard to clear her vision. The streets were hazy under dim streetlights, and the cold was biting through her thin shirt. But she knew Baltimore like the back of her hand, especially after years of being a dummy doing dumb things with the other smart dummies from an all-girls high school.
Her gaze landed on a familiar blue sign.
"N-near Johns Hopkins," she murmured, voice still unsteady, slightly shivering.
Kamala frowned. "I don't know that area well. Can you share your location?"
Thankfully, Samara was coherent enough to do just that. Within seconds, Kamala had the pin, and she was already moving, grabbing her keys and heading back out.
The drive felt longer than it was. Every second stretched, her grip tightening on the wheel, her jaw locked with frustration. When she finally pulled up in front of the hospital, her heart squeezed at the sight of Samara.
She was sitting on a bench, arms wrapped around herself, shivering.
Kamala barely put the car in park before she was out, shrugging off her coat and draping it over Samara's shoulders. Samara didn't say anything, just let Kamala guide her to the passenger seat and shut the door behind her.
They drove in silence.
The only sound was the heater blasting.
Kamala kept glancing at Samara, who stared out the window, her eyes hollow.
Finally, Kamala exhaled sharply. "What your mother is doing to you is terrible, Samara. I wish I could do more."
Samara let out a small, humorless chuckle. "You can't," she said simply.
"Neither of us can." She shifted slightly, resting her head against the window.
"She's going to transfer me next semester whether I like it or not. I might not get to be a prosecutor straight out of college, but... I'll still get my degree. I'll still become a practicing attorney."
Kamala's heart ached for her. "That doesn't make it right."
"I know," Samara murmured.
Kamala reached over, rubbing soothing circles on Samara's thigh. Samara didn't pull away.
They drove the rest of the way in silence.
When they got back to Kamala's hotel room, Kamala set her bag down and turned to Samara. "You can take the bed, 'll sleep on the pullout."
But before she could move, Samara crumpled into her, her entire body shaking as sobs broke free.
"What am I going to do?" she choked out.
Kamala held her tighter. "We'll figure it out," she whispered, running her fingers through Samara's hair.
For now, that was all she could offer.
—
Tazara walked across campus, her hands shoved deep into her pockets, her mind swarming at her own indecision. The crisp air barely registered as she paced down the dimly lit pathways, the usual hum of campus life muffled by the weight of her thoughts.
She pulled out her phone, thumb hovering over her mother's contact. She knew what she had to do, but actually pressing the call button felt impossible.
Her mother had the money. That wasn't the problem. The problem was what it meant.
Calling her mother meant revealing a part of herself she wasn't sure Samara would understand. Wouldn't make a big deal about.
Tazara had spent years keeping that part of her away, never wanting to risk what she and Samara had, this easy, unshakable friendship. Samara was her best friend, her closest friend, and nothing had ever come between them. But something this big, something like being like her... it could change things.
Still, she'd be wrong to let Samara drift away like this. To watch her get forced into a future she didn't want, all because Tazara was afraid. Could have helped.
Before she could second-guess herself, she hit the call.
It rang once. Twice.
Then her mother answered, voice warm and sweet, instantly laced with concern.
"Baby, what's wrong?"
Tazara exhaled sharply, forcing a smile she didn't feel. "Nothing, Ma. I'm fine. Just calling to check in."
Her mother was silent for half a second, then she let out a sharp, knowing breath. "Tazara."
Tazara winced.
"You don't call just to check in," her mother continued. "Not at this hour. What's going on? Don't you have classes to attend?"
Tazara laughed, shaking her head. She could never get anything past her.
"Okay, okay, you got me. It's about Samara."
That was all it took.
Her mother gasped, and then there was the sound of keys rattling.
"WHO DID WHAT AND WHERE?" she yelled, voice already rising. "Do I need to come to Howard right now? Because I will—"
Tazara's eyes widened as she heard her mother move through the house, her breath picking up as she stomped toward the door.
"Ma—Ma! Calm down!"
"I am calm!" her mother shot back. "I'm just grabbing my coat and my car keys—"
Tazara groaned. "Can you please not hop in the car, like Samara isn't even here with me, right now..."
"If it's bad enough I will, but I digress, talk"
Her mother huffed but paused, the jingle of her keys still audible.
"Um Samara's mom, you know how I told you she didn't want Samara going to Howard with me? She wanted her to go to the University of Baltimore?"
"Yes"
"Uh, well her mom, found out she was seeing our professor-"
"Really? Is she happy because if so that isn't exactly the most shocking thing I thought she'd do, I still remember how you told me she got a nose bleed when your bio teacher wore... what was it again?"
"A button up tucked in some slack ma, yeah..."
"That never gets old, but what happened?"
"We took an internship, and it put us against each other, yada yada yada, both our mentors quote in the middle of the internships and my boss had grudges against Samara boss, who is also our professor, and she...um... I guess found Samara mom and put her business out" She explained not wanting to mention the whole guns, and threats, and such
"Her mom called, cursed her out, and demanded she come home" She explained pausing
"Okay, and did her mother do something, you haven't told me why this was so important to call about"
"Her moms threatening to cut her off and force her to drop out after the first semester, or she goes back to Baltimore and gets forced to become a defense attorney after being forced to transfer to University of Baltimore"
"I thought she wanted to become a defense attorney, she's good at that, right?"
"Yeah, but no she doesn't, the internship was for prosecution, working with eh DA and all that, mine was with a corporate law firm, but my person also took criminal cases for the firm. Samara's good at defense but that not what she wants to do, and her mother isn't exactly the same"
"Okay I'm not seeing the issue here baby, it's perfectly in her mother's right to do those things, especially if she is paying her tuition, but I'm not saying she should be forced to do something she doesn't want to.
"Exactly but, ma, Samara loves it at Howard, we love it at Howard. She's happy, she basically has been going crazy thinking about what her mother wanted, and she called when she got there and said she was freaking out because her mother had known for a while before calling her home!"
"Tazara baby, I know she's your friend, but neither of us can change what her mother wants for her daughter." She paused
"Samara's an adult and so are you, things don't always go our way sweetly. I'm sorry to hear about Samara, but you'll both just have to be apart for a while." Her mother said as her heart sank, she thought she would understand, but obviously not.
"Ma, can you at least go to her house? Check in? Something, I-i don't? She just didn't sound like she was okay last time she called, and I'm concerned she threatened to hurt herself? Is that enough of a reason to be concerned?"
"Well you should have led with that, so fine, I will drop by tomorrow to say it's a social visit. I heard Samara was back in town and wanted to say hi? That sounds alright?"
"Yeah? Just don't tell her mom I said anything I said"
"I won't, now I'll see you when I see you, I'll call tomorrow"
"Okay ma, love you"
"Love you too"
The call ended.
'Shit shit shit' tazara cursed angrily as she threw her phone down as she entered her dorm.
She looked at Samara's side of the room, it was just her things left behind, her laptop, her shoes, her empty moving bins that she knew she'd see full again sooner than later. Samara was sure she'd be back and would, not for long though, the semester was up in ten days...
10 days...
10 days to stop her from leaving.
Her phone began to buzz.
She looked down, and it was exactly who she wanted to hear.
"Hey everything cool?
"Yeah, I'm with kam, r-right now, uh my mom kicked me out she told me that it was to show me what I would be if I didn't do what she said" she began voice obviously carrying her exhaustion through the phone
"My moms coming to check on you tomorrow, I told her what's happening, maybe she'll try to talk some sense into her... but I didn't know she kicked you out?"
"It's not your fault I didn't tell you, um, kam came and got me, so I'm fine now. But I'm not going back there, I'm coming back to Howard to pack soon..."
"Samara no!"
"Yes, tazara I don't have any other choice! I don't like it, but I want to finish college, i can run away when I'm done, she can't take the damn degree"
She hung up.