"Samara, you didn't have to hang up on her that way, she was only trying to understand what's happening, she's your friend, and she's concerned" Kamala began as she came to sit down next to Samara on the bed
"I know, but I can't deal with her telling me I can't do this."
"What else am I going to do? It's not like a hundred grand is going to drop out of the sky to pay tuition, housing, and whatever else I might need Kamala! I'm fucked and you both know it. My mom doesn't care about what I want, it's just about her plan, what she wants me to become."
"I still can't figure out what she gains, what she wants" Samara began, her voice beginning to trail off once again
Kamala watched Samara's fingers tighten around the sheets, her breath quick and uneven.
That worried look still etched in Samara eyes
The room was too still, too quiet, except for the sharpness of her inhales, the way her body tensed like she was waiting for something, some force to either push her forward or pull her under.
"Samara, talk to me," Kamala urged softly.
"I am talking." Samara's voice wavered, barely holding itself together. "I keep talking, and nothing changes!"
Kamala reached for her hand, but Samara flinched, pulling away like the touch might shatter her.
"I know it feels impossible right now," Kamala said carefully. "But you're not alone in this."
Samara let out a broken laugh. "Not alone? Kamala, I am alone! I've been alone this whole damn time!" She ran her hands through her hair, tugging at the roots, her breaths coming in faster.
"I don't have a way out, I don't have a future, I don't have a—anything... I lose everything I have if I don't listen to her, or I lose myself"
She stopped, her chest rising and falling too quickly. Kamala could see it happening, the spiral, the way her emotions switched between devastation and anger so fast she couldn't hold onto either.
"Breathe," Kamala instructed.
"I am breathing."
"Not well."
Samara stood suddenly, her bed scraping the floor behind her. She started pacing, her arms crossing tightly over her chest.
"You don't get it," she muttered, voice unsteady.
"You have people who give a shit about what you want. My mother, HA! She doesn't even see me! She doesn't care what I want, what I need! It's just about her plan, her control. And if I don't fall in line, I'm nothing to her."
"Samara—"
"She doesn't care, Kamala!" Samara's voice cracked as she pressed a trembling hand to her forehead. "I could drop dead tomorrow, and she'd just be mad I didn't finish what she wanted first."
Kamala's stomach twisted, but before she could respond, Samara turned on her heel, her expression unraveling completely.
"Why can't I just have a father? Why don't I have a father?" The words came out as a whisper at first, then louder, like they had broken free without permission.
"Why couldn't I have a father who, who, gave a shit? Why couldn't I just—"
Her voice choked off, her hands gripping the sides of her head. Kamala felt the weight of the question settle over the room, suffocating.
Kamala had never asked about Samara's father. She'd just assumed... what?
Seeing the raw pain in her face, she realized how much she didn't know.
"Samara..." Kamala's voice was careful, hesitant. "Do you know what happened to him? Did he—leave? Or—?"
Samara stopped pacing. Her head lifted slightly, but her eyes were unfocused, dilated, like she was looking through her, not at her.
She mumbled, barely above a breath, "No."
Kamala blinked. "You don't—?"
"I don't know," Samara murmured, voice flat, distant. "She never told me anything about him."
Kamala felt her pulse quicken. "You never asked?"
Samara's lips twitched, almost like she wanted to laugh. "I did. And you know what she told me?" She turned, meeting Kamala's gaze with something empty, something hollow.
"That I didn't have a father. My birth certificate is blank where it says father, she never even said a name"
Kamala's breath caught.
"She used to say it all the time. You don't have a father. You don't need one. It's just us." Samara's jaw clenched, and she let out a shaky breath.
"So I believed her. I stopped asking. And after a while, I stopped thinking about it. But sometimes—" Her voice wavered. "Sometimes I just—wa-won..." her eyelids lowered
Her knees buckled, and Kamala caught her before she hit the floor.
"Alright," Kamala whispered, guiding her back to the bed. "Alright, you need to rest."
Samara let herself be pulled down, her body too drained to fight. Kamala slid her shoes off, then tucked the blanket around her as her eyes flickered, unfocused, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of too many emotions at once.
Kamala waited until her breaths evened, until her tossing and turning slowed just a little. Then she stood, moving to the desk, flipping open her laptop.
It wasn't her place to dig.
She shouldn't be doing this.
But something didn't sit right.
Samara didn't have a father. That was what she believed. That was what she'd been told.
But Kamala wasn't sure she believed that. Her mother is adamant about her becoming a defense attorney, to convince her not knowing her dad. It all felt too connected. Her mother wasn't just overbearing about this for nothing.
She pulled up Samara's student profile, scrolling through basic details—scholarship applications, financial aid records. Something caught her eye.
Samara wasn't listed under the single-parent tuition reduction.
Weird. Most students in single-parent households had it automatically applied. Maybe her mother had refused it, but... why?
Kamala clicked deeper into the personal information tab. And then she froze.
Father: Oscar Jordan (Deceased).
Mother: Araminta Jordan.
Her breath caught, and she read it again.
Oscar Jordan.
A name.
A father.
A lie.
Kamala's stomach dropped as she turned her head slowly, staring at Samara as she tossed in her sleep.
She didn't know.
She had no idea.
Kamala's fingers hovered over the keyboard, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Oscar Jordan.
She typed the name into Google, swallowing hard as she hit Enter. The screen flooded with results, news articles, old reports, court records. Her stomach clenched as she scrolled, her eyes catching on a headline that sent a chill down her spine.
"Murder in Baltimore Home Leaves One Dead, Another Arrested."
Kamala clicked on it.
The article loaded, a grainy image of yellow crime scene tape stretched across the front of a brick row home filling the top with the page. The date was from years ago, back when Samara would have been too young to understand anything.
She read, her pulse quickening.
Oscar Jordan, 36, was shot and killed late last night at the Baltimore home of his ex-wife, Araminta Jordan. Authorities state that the shooting occurred after Jordan arrived at the residence and got into a violent altercation with Troy Harper, a man who was allegedly in a relationship with Ms. Jordan at the time. Witnesses report that Jordan had been demanding to see his daughter, but was refused entry. According to police, Harper then retrieved a firearm and shot Jordan multiple times.
Kamala felt the blood drain from her face.
Harper was arrested at the scene and later convicted of first-degree murder. He is currently serving a life sentence.
Her eyes kept moving, but the words blurred.
Ms. Jordan declined to comment on the incident, stating that she did not wish for her daughter to learn about the details surrounding her father's death. 'She has seen enough as is,' she told reporters at the time.
Kamala exhaled sharply, running a hand down her face. This is why. This is why Araminta never told Samara anything. She didn't want her to find out.
She looked back at the screen. The daughter's name wasn't mentioned anywhere. But Kamala didn't need it to be.
It was Samara. It had to be.
She turned her head, watching as Samara shifted in her sleep, her breath uneven, her face still twisted with the remnants of whatever pain she had fallen unconscious with.
Kamala's chest ached. Does she tell her? Would knowing this help Samara in any way? Or would it destroy her?
Kamala knew one thing for certain, this explained why Araminta wanted her daughter to become a defense attorney so badly. It wasn't about prestige, or money, or even control.
It was about him.
Kamala swallowed hard and went back to the search bar, her fingers shaking slightly as she typed in Troy Harper parole hearing.
A court document popped up. Kamala clicked.
Her stomach twisted as she skimmed the text, her breath catching on a particular line:
"Troy Harper was denied parole due to showing no remorse for his crime. During the hearing, he expressed a desire to establish a relationship with the deceased's daughter. The parole board deemed this request inappropriate and indicative of an unfit and unreformed inmate."
Kamala's blood ran cold.
He wants to see Samara.
But that wasn't what shook her the most. It was the realization that followed.
Samara's mother—Araminta—was trying to get him out.
This wasn't just about shaping Samara's future. It was about preparing her for one thing: to become the lawyer who could overturn Troy Harper's conviction.
Kamala stared at the screen, her mind reeling.
This wasn't just about Samara's career.
This was about getting that man out.
But of course she wasn't going to tell Samara that. she couldn't. it was only a mere assumption backed by speculation. and she knew better as a prosecutor than to go around telling something she couldn't prove with facts.
But it explained everything. why her mother wanted her to become a defense attorney so bad. why she never knew her father's name. Her mother had tried to protect her by never telling her the name. But how long would it last, how long would it be, or would the day ever come that she looked at her own student profile and saw her father's name listed.
And if she did find out.
How long would it take for Samara to completely break it down?
she had to tell somebody. Anyone. she instantly thought of Tezara. She wouldn't know what to do with the information either, but at least someone else would know what she knew. at least someone else could tell her if she should or shouldn't tell Samara.
Kamala exhaled slowly, staring at Samara's sleeping form. Even in rest, her body was tense, shifting uneasily beneath the sheets.
She couldn't tell her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Her mind raced. She needed to tell someone. She needed to say the words out loud, to make sense of them.
Tezara.
Without a second thought, Kamala got up and reached for Samara's phone, carefully pressing Samara's thumb against the fingerprint sensor. The screen unlocked instantly.
She went straight to the contacts, scrolled to Tezara's name, and hit the dial.
The line rang twice before Tezara picked up.
"Samara?" Her voice was groggy, confused.
Kamala hesitated before answering. "No, it's me. Kamala."
Tezara was silent for a second before asking, "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah... yeah, everything's fine." Kamala lied, running a hand through her hair. "Samara just had another meltdown, but she's sleeping now."
Tezara let out a breath. "Shit. I figured she might. How bad was it?"
Kamala hesitated. She didn't want to get into that part right now. "Bad. But she's out cold now."
They exchanged small talk about Tezara's own condition before Kamala felt the weight of the truth pushing against her ribs, demanding to be spoken to.
"Listen, Tezara..." Kamala's voice lowered. "I found something out. Something really important. And I think you need to know."
She got up from the chair, careful not to wake Samara, and slipped out into the dimly lit hallway. The air outside the hotel room felt colder, heavier.
"What is it?" Tezara asked.
Kamala pressed her back against the wall and took a breath. "Her mother... She's been hiding something from her. Something huge, I think."
"Okay...?"
"Her father." The words felt heavier than she expected.
"She never knew his name, right? Well, I found it in her student records. Oscar Jordan."
There was a pause on the other end before Tezara said, "Alright...?"
Kamala clenched her jaw, forcing herself to keep going. "I looked him up. Tezara, he was murdered. When Samara was a young. By her mom's boyfriend. The guy's been in prison for years, but he tried to get parole, and they denied him. But—" Kamala swallowed.
"I think her mom wants him out. And I think she's been pushing Samara to be a defense attorney because she's trying to use Samara to make that happen."
Silence.
Then— "Wait. What the fuck?"
Kamala nodded, even though Tezara couldn't see her. "Yeah."
Tezara let out a low whistle. "I— I had no clue. I mean, none. Her mom never mentioned her dad. No pictures, nothing. Hell, I never even thought about it. Like... she just didn't have one."
Kamala closed her eyes. That was the part that haunted her the most. Samara hadn't just not known, she had genuinely believed she didn't have a father, her mother helped her forget too. That it was impossible. That there was no one out there to miss.
"What do I do?" Kamala asked, voice smaller now.
"I don't know if I should tell her. I don't even know if she can handle knowing. And... and I don't know what this means for us. For me and her. For anything."
Tezara exhaled. "I get it. And I don't have the answers either. But I do know this: Samara's probably gonna tear herself apart over this. Over not knowing. Over being lied to. She'll blame herself, you know how she is. Her mom would too, probably."
Kamala nodded.
"But she's lucky to have you," Tezara continued. "She really does care about you, Kamala. I can tell. And I'm glad you're with her. That she has someone who gives a damn and won't just let her spiral."
Kamala let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Yeah."
Tezara hesitated before adding, "Look, I know we're talking about heavy shit right now, but... I wanna help too, I wanted to... If her mom is threatening to pull her out of Howard, money isn't to be the reason, well wouldn't be the reason"
Kamala's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I'm loaded, Kamala."
Kamala blinked.
"My family has more than enough to cover Samara's tuition. But I can't just give her the money. My mom's already said if her moms the one paying for it, she gets to make the decisions. And she's right, Samara wouldn't have a choice. She'd have to transfer. I was going to ask if my mom would help her out but, i-i don't think she's go around her mom like that"
Kamala sighed, pressing her fingers against her temple. "So what do we do?"
"I don't know. My moms going to talk to her mom tomorrow, maybe she can get a read on her. And if she can't... possibly you and I can try to talk to my mom. If you both come at this from the right angle, possibly we can find a way to keep Samara at Howard? Like promising a defense focus?"
Kamala sighed but nodded, determination settling in her chest, it wasn't fully what Samara wanted, but it would keep her sane.
"Okay. Yeah. That's something."
Tezara exhaled. " One step at a time."
Kamala glanced at the hotel room door. Samara was just behind it, still completely unaware of what Kamala now knew.
"Yeah," she murmured. "One step at a time."
She hung up and went back into the room, Samara was still asleep. She was mumbling something, faint but troubling. She gently laid in the bed next to Samara, pushing a strand of hair from her face as she began to listen.
'Momma, who are they?'
'Shut up. Go to your room and go to sleep, you shouldn't be awake anyway.' her voice switched to be harsher, tighter.
'B-but he gave me a present!?' she mumbled
'HE WHAT! Give me that, GO TO YOUR ROOM NOW' She jolted slightly
Then soft sobbing...
January 4th
Julia took a slow sip of her tea, offering Araminta a warm smile. "Thanks for making time to chat, minta. Gosh, it's been a while, hasn't it?"
Araminta didn't return the pleasantries. She sat stiffly across from Julia, fingers tapping against the side of her cup. "I'm guessing Tezara called you about Samara?"
Julia chuckled lightly, trying to keep the conversation breezy. "You know how the girls are, always looking out for each other. Tezara's worried, she hears you're transferring Samara back home. Everything alright?"
Araminta waved a dismissive hand. "Yes! Ain't nothing going on. We just needed to reevaluate a few things. You know how these girls get when they think they have grown their wings." She paused to take a sip, her smile tight.
Julia hummed. "I hear you. But you know Samara... She's sensitive. And from what I gather, she's happy at Howard. This seems a little sudden."
Araminta scoffed, setting her cup down a little too hard. "Sensitive? She's out here playing house with her professor! She needs to get back on track, reset, be somewhere that ain't a party school. Just the books and our plan."
Julia's ears perked up at the emphasis. "Oh? What plan?"
'You would think she'd be more outraged about the sleeping with the professor part' she said in her mind
Araminta hesitated, her fingers curling around the edge of the table.
"Oh, it's nothing, Julia. Just... an old friend is having something soon, and they want Samara to come speak at their event. She needs to be focused on defense in school so she can be well-prepared, is all."
Julia caught the shift in Araminta's gaze, how her eyes drifted around the room rather than meeting hers.
She was lying.
And she wasn't even trying to cover it well.
She didn't care.
Julia leaned forward slightly, keeping her voice casual. "What kind of event? Their graduation's still a ways off, isn't it, they haven't even gotten the degree yet?"
Araminta's jaw tightened. "Don't need a degree, just need to know how to be a damn defense lawyer at least."
Then, too quickly, she snapped,
"She's coming back to Baltimore for good. She needs a change of scenery, to get her head right."
There it was.
The finality in her voice. The avoidance. The flicker of something else in her expression, something deeper than concern, something closer to control.
Julia sighed, setting her tea down. "Araminta... if this is about money, I just want you to know that it doesn't have to be. Samara is like one of my own. If tuition is the issue, I'd be more than happy to help." she knew it wasn't, but she wanted to be sure
Araminta's eyes snapped to hers, something flashing behind them—something almost angry.
"No."
Julia blinked. "Araminta, there's no shame in—"
"I said no." Araminta's voice was low, clipped, final.
"Samara is my daughter. I decide what's best for her. And what's best is for her to come home."
Julia opened her mouth to push back, but Araminta was already standing, already making it clear this conversation was over.
"Now, if that's all—"
Julia hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, Araminta. That's all."
Araminta was already moving toward the door. She didn't even wait for Julia to gather her things before she was pushing it open, practically ushering her outside.
The door slammed behind her.
Julia stood there for a second, blinking. That was... unsettling.
With a sigh, she made her way down the steps and to her car, slipping inside and pulling out her phone. She was just about to call Tezara when—
A knock at her window.
Julia startled, her head snapping up.
A woman stood outside, eyes darting between her and Samara's house. Her face was tense, like she was debating whether she should even be here.
Julia's fingers hovered over her phone screen before she slowly rolled down the window. "Can I help you?"
"Hello, I'm so sorry to bother you, but I'm your daughter professor, and she asked for me to talk to you about Samara, she's staying with me because her mother kicked her out? So can we please talk about how we may be able to stop this young girl from offing herself?" Kamala explained hurriedly, but Julia was too stunned to speak, and too stunned by Araminta to deny.
"Get it, but let me call tazara first" she said unlocking the doors as Kamala rounded the car and got in the passenger's seat sighing as she wired for her to dial tazara.
The call connected.
"The semester ends in 13 days. Please, you two have to do something, my Samara's mom is trying to make her become a defense attorney to get the man out of jail. The man killed her father, and she doesn't know" Tazara blurted out, giving her mother no time for refusal.
"Oh my- um, slow down? H-how do I come into all this because I'm pretty sure that woman was going to rip my head off when I asked about if she needed money or not?"
"It's not about money, we promise you, Samara doesn't remember her father because she was too young to, and she had this dream last night about a gift that she'd been given by some man, i-i-"
"She's told me about that dream before, she said some man gave it to her and then the only thing she can piece together after that is her mom taking it and shoving it in some closet..."
"Okay, but how does that change what her mother is doing, because now that I have seen how the hell she's acting and how honestly this makes sense, I'm with y'all. I knew that the man who killed Oscar, god, was fine as hell!"
"YOU KNEW?!" Tazaras voice came boisterous through the mic
"I never told you? I could have sworn..."
—
She stood in the doorway, small hands clutching the frame as she peered outside. The man on the porch smiled warmly at her, eyes crinkling with something familiar, something she didn't have the words for.
He knelt down, close enough that she could see the flecks of brown in his deep-set eyes. "You're getting so big, baby girl."
His hand reached out, pinching her cheek just enough to make her giggle.
And then he held something out to her. A small, wrapped box.
A present.
Samara beamed as she took it into her tiny hands, tracing the wrapping paper with her fingers. "For me?"
The man nodded, eyes warm. But just as she was about to tear it open—
The world flickered.
Like a scratched film reel, the edges of her world distorted and warped. The sun dipped below the horizon in an instant, and now she was still standing in that doorway—
But it was dark.
And the man was lying on the ground.
She gasped, stepping back as she saw the flashing red and blue lights. A second man—someone she didn't know, was being shoved into a cop car, his face twisted into something angry, something wrong.
Her mother stood over the first man, the one who had given her the gift. She was talking to the medics, her lips moving too fast for Samara to understand.
The six-year-old inside of her didn't comprehend what was happening, only that something had shifted.
Something had broken.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Samara spun around, heart hammering in her tiny chest.
Her mother towered above her, the weight of her presence pressing down on Samara's small frame.
Samara swallowed, eyes wide as she looked up. "Momma... who are they?"
Her mother's expression darkened. Her lips pursed, her jaw clenched. Then—
"Shut up. Go to your room and go to sleep. You shouldn't be awake anyway."
The sharpness of her voice stung, making Samara flinch.
"B-but... he gave me a present!" she whimpered, holding the small box up like proof—proof that the man had been here, that he had seen her, that he had cared.
But her mother's expression twisted into something raw, something furious.
Her hand shot out, snatching the gift from Samara's trembling hands.
"HE WHAT? Give me that. GO TO YOUR ROOM. NOW."
Her voice rang through the house, rattling against Samara's ribs as she shrank back.
She watched, frozen, as her mother stormed to the closet, yanked it open, and shoved the box onto the highest shelf—so high Samara knew she'd never reach it.
The door slammed again.
Darkness.
Nothing.
And then—
Samara woke up.
Her eyes shot open, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow gasps. The hotel room around her was still and quiet, but the weight of the dream clung to her like a second skin.
She reached up, pressing shaking fingers to her face. Her skin was damp with sweat.
Slowly, her wide, panicked eyes scanned the room.
Kamala had left out fresh clothes for her. The sight should have comforted her—should have made her feel safe.
But she couldn't move.
She couldn't think.
The dread seeped into her bones, wrapping around her like a chain.
Her mind fogged over, heavy and thick, trapping her in place.
She just sat there, staring blankly around the room, lips slightly parted in a silent plea for help.
—
Kamala sat stiffly in the car, arms crossed, jaw tight. This wasn't the conversation she expected, not from Julia, not now, but the weight of it pressed down between them like a lead blanket.
Julia didn't ease up, her stare sharp. "I need to know something, Kamala."
Kamala exhaled, slow and measured. "What?"
"Are you actually in love with Samara, or are you just fucking her because she's adjacent to a child?"
Kamala's hands balled into fists. "What the hell does that mean?"
Julia's voice didn't waver. "It means I know my daughter, and I know how much she cares about Samara. And I know Samara ain't never had a fair shot at being taken care of. So if you're just playing with her—if you're just using her—"
"I love her." Kamala's voice was steady, firm.
"I love Samara, Julia. And no, I'm not trying to fuck a child. She's a grown woman, and I care about her. Deeply."
Julia studied her, searching for cracks.
Then, from the phone sitting between them on speaker, Tazara's voice cut in. "Mom, lay off Kamala."
Julia's gaze flicked to the phone. "Tazara—"
"No, for real. Kamala really does care about her. You might not wanna believe it, but it's true."
The car went quiet.
Julia sat back, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled just as slow.
Finally, she spoke. "Maybe I'll help y'all now."
Kamala frowned. "What?"
Julia nodded to herself. "I didn't see things this way before. But if you're right about her mother, if she's really pulling some shit like this... she's wrong to try to do Samara like this. More than wrong."
Before Kamala could respond, her eyes flicked to the street, and her breath caught.
A lone figure moved toward them, swaying with each step, arms wrapped tightly around themselves.
Kamala's stomach twisted.
"... Samara?"
She was out of the car before she could think, the door slamming shut behind her.
Julia turned, her brows furrowing before her eyes widened.
Samara.
She looked awful.
The loose-fitting clothes Kamala had left out swallowed her frame. Her face was hollow, eyes sunken, her skin washed out beneath the streetlights. She shuffled forward, aimless, empty.
Julia slowly stepped out of the car, staring in disbelief. "Oh my god."
Kamala moved toward her carefully, her voice gentle. "Samara?"
No response.
Samara kept walking, her glassy eyes locked on something beyond them.
"Samara, hey—look at me." Kamala tried again, stepping into her path. But Samara only drifted past her like she wasn't even there.
Julia sucked in a breath. "How long has she been like this? What happened?"
Kamala shook her head, voice tight. "Not long? I don't know. She was fine yesterday."
Through the speaker, Tazara's voice turned frantic. "Mom, FaceTime me. Now."
Julia fumbled with her phone, pulling up the video call. As soon as Tazara's face appeared, her expression twisted in horror.
"Jesus Christ."
They all watched in stunned silence as Samara made her way to her mother's front door. She lifted a frail hand and knocked.
A pause.
Then the door swung open.
Samara's mother stood there, arms crossed, a knowing smirk curling her lips.
"Knew you'd be back."
Samara didn't say a word.
She just pushed past her mother into the house.
Kamala and Julia stood frozen, watching her disappear inside.
Samara's mother turned to them, her face darkening. "What the hell did you two do?" she demanded. "What did you say to her Julia and who the hell are you, wait your that profe-?"
A crash erupted from inside the house.
Loud. Violent.
The sound of something, or someone, hitting the floor.
All three women snapped their heads toward the doorway.
Then, as if possessed by the same fear, they rushed inside.
Kamala's heart pounded as she followed the sound of muffled cries down the hall, past the overturned coat rack, and toward the open closet.
There, in the middle of the mess, sat Samara.
She was on the floor, surrounded by fallen boxes and scattered belongings, a single gift box clutched tightly in her lap.
Tears streamed down her face, her fingers trembling as she carefully undid the wrapping.
Julia and Kamala barely had time to process before Samara's mother surged forward, her voice sharp, "Don't open that. Give it to me."
Samara didn't move.
She slowly lifted her bloodshot eyes, looking up at her mother as tears dripped from her chin.
Then, in a quiet, cracked voice, she uttered, "...From my father."
A sharp inhale. Kamala and Julia gasped.
Through the phone, Tazara's voice rang out, "Samara, don't open it!"
But it was too late.
Samara's mother lunged to grab the box, "Give it to me!", but Samara was faster.
She shot to her feet, backing away as she tore the wrapping apart, her breathing ragged, her hands desperate.
The paper fell to the ground.
Inside, there was no money, no weapon, no threat. Just an old, unopened letter and a teddy bear.
A teddy bear that, when squeezed, played a voice recording.
"Hey, baby girl... It's Daddy."
Samara's breath hitched.
"I love you so much. I hope to see you soon. You're always in my heart."
Silence.
No one moved.
Kamala and Julia stood frozen, trembling, watching the moment unfold.
Samara blinked, her lips parting in shock.
Then, slowly, she looked down at the letter, her fingers carefully unfolding the delicate, yellowed paper.
She started reading, her voice barely above a whisper, mumbling at first, then growing stronger with each word.
My sweet Samara,
I'm so sorry I haven't been there for you like I should have. Not a day goes by that I don't think about you, about what I've missed, about what I should have done differently. I should have fought harder for custody. I should have swallowed my pride and met your mother's demands, no matter how unfair, just so I could be in your life. I should have tried harder to make things right. I hope this will help you later, even if I'm not there. To make sure you know how much I love you.
I don't know when you'll read this, or if you ever will, but please—never doubt that I wanted you, that I loved you, and that I always will.
I hope I get to see you soon, baby girl.
Love,
Oscar Jordan.
There was a piece of paper tucked into the bear's arm
Samara's hand trembled as she finished reading aloud, her lips quivering.
Then—
A sharp tear.
She gasped, watching as her mother ripped the letter straight down the middle.
"NO—"
Before Samara could react, her mother grabbed for the bear—
But Samara shoved her back. "Don't touch me!"
Her mother stumbled, eyes flashing with rage, but she didn't try again.
Instead, Samara collapsed against the wall, her breaths coming in short bursts.
Her chest rose and fell unevenly.
Her vision blurred.
The walls felt like they were closing in.
She gripped the torn pieces of the letter, pressing herself against the wall as her lungs fought for air.
Her mother loomed over her, but for once...She wasn't screaming.
She was just staring.
Silent. Cold. Unreadable.
And Samara... Samara couldn't breathe.
Samara's mother stepped closer, looming over her trembling frame like a shadow.
"Get up."
Samara didn't move. She couldn't. The air felt too thick, her lungs too tight, her body frozen against the wall. Tears streamed down her face as her vision blurred, her grip tightening around the torn letter.
Her mother's voice sharpened. "I said, get up. Stop crying, you're overreacting."
Samara barely heard her.
"That note is fake," her mother continued, her tone clipped.
"You don't have a father. You never did. And even if you did, what does it change? Hm? Nothing. You're still coming home to Baltimore. You're still going to UB, no matter what ridiculous fantasies you've convinced yourself of."
But Samara didn't respond.
She stayed on the floor, her body shaking, her breath coming in shallow, gasping pants.
Kamala and Julia stood frozen, watching as it all unfolded.
Watching Samara break.
Neither of them knew what to do, if they could do anything.
The silence in the room was suffocating.
And then, her mother saw it.
Saw the way Samara's breaths became shorter, sharper. The way her hands clawed at her chest, her lips trembling with words she couldn't form.
Panic.
It was rising, swallowing her whole.
Her mother's face twisted. "Oh, for God's sake."
Instead of kneeling to comfort, instead of comforting, instead of helping, she sneered. "You're weak. You've always been weak. You can't even control yourself."
Samara's nails dug into her palms.
"And look at you now, letting them do this to you." Her mother's gaze flickered toward Kamala and Julia.
"They're filling your head with nonsense. Kamala's using you. Tazara's holding you back. Whatever lies they've been feeding you, they're making you jaded. Useless."
Julia clenched her fists, her lips parting to snap back—
But Samara moved first.
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!"
Her scream ripped through the air, so loud, so raw, it left.
Her mother blinked, startled, just for a second.
Samara's hands trembled as she clutched the pieces of the letter.
"You kept the one thing I never thought I had from me."
Her mother's expression hardened. "Oh, here we go—"
"My father!" Samara cut her off, her voice shaking with fury.
Julia sucked in a breath. Kamala's heart pounded.
"I never asked for his name. I never asked where he was. I never even asked if he wanted me—" Samara's voice cracked, but she pushed through, her eyes burning.
"All I ever wanted to know was if I had one at all."
Her mother scoffed. "You're hung up on stupid stuff—"
"No, I'm not!" Samara's voice wavered, but her conviction didn't.
"I've dreamed about this box for years, and now I know why. I saw you take it. I saw you shove it into the closet. I saw you hide it from me—"
Her mother's face twitched, just slightly.
"You knew it was from him." Samara's voice was barely above a whisper now. "You knew, and you took it anyway."
Silence.
Samara's grip tightened around the torn paper.
"I don't care what you say. I don't care what you try to do now." She lifted her chin, her bloodshot eyes locking onto her mother's cold ones.
"I'm going to know my father. One way or another."
Julia, Kamala, and Tazara's stomachs dropped.
Araminta stood frozen, her face unreadable, but her skin had gone pale.
Kamala, Julia, and Tazara, still on the phone, felt it at the same time, a sinking, suffocating dread.
Samara swayed as she pushed past her mother, exhaustion written in every step. She held the small bear to her chest, clutching it as if it were a part of herself her mother ripped out. She didn't look back. She just walked to the front door, opened it, and stepped out.
Kamala and Julia stood still, staring at Araminta.
A slow, venomous sneer twisted across her lips.
"This is your fault."
Her voice was thick with hatred, dripping with spite.
"You filled her head with nonsense. You turned her against me."
Julia took a step forward, her jaw tight. "No, Araminta. This is on you."
Araminta's eyes flickered with something dangerous.
"We know what you've been trying to do." Julia's voice was calm, but the weight of it hit hard.
"We know about the boyfriend. We know about his parole. We know about the plans you've been pushing on Samara—"
Araminta didn't even flinch. She didn't deny it. She just exhaled sharply, shaking her head with a humorless laugh.
"Well, if you know everything, then you better figure out how the hell you're gonna tell Samara the truth." She looked them both dead in the eye.
"Because when she looks up her father's name, she'll find out everything."
"I don't need the damned girl"
a lie.
Kamala's stomach twisted.
Araminta turned sharply, pointing at the door open. "Now get the hell out of my house."
Kamala and Julia exchanged a glance, knowing there was nothing left to say. Not to her. They stepped outside, the night air feeling heavier than before.
They didn't have much time.
Kamala exhaled, her mind already racing with ways to stop what was coming. "Give me your number," she said to Julia, urgency lacing her tone.
"I want to keep talking about what we can do. We need to figure this out."
"Yeah!" tazara added
Julia didn't hesitate. She rattled off her number, watching as Kamala typed it in.
Then, she saw Samara.
Sitting in Kamala's car.
Sobbing.
Kamala turned, and her chest clenched at the sight.
Samara was hunched over her phone, the screen's glow reflecting in her tear-filled eyes. Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, her shoulders shaking violently.
And then Kamala saw what was on the screen.
Her heart stopped.
Samara had already found something.
Kamala rushed forward, flinging the car door open. Samara didn't even flinch.
She was about to scroll further down, to the suspect details.
Kamala snatched the phone from her hands.
Samara gasped, her fingers twitching, but before she could react, Kamala pulled her into a tight embrace.
Samara crumbled.
A wail tore from her throat as she buried her face into Kamala's shoulder, her hands clutching at her shirt with desperate, trembling fists.
She sobbed, loud, gut-wrenching cries that shook the car, her entire body trembling against Kamala's.
"You knew?"
There is a long silence.
"I-"