Chapter 2
I barely slept that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw two things.
Jordan flinching when I raised my hand.
And Nia staring at the message on her phone.
I had spent years believing I could solve any problem by working harder.
When our mortgage increased, I took bigger construction contracts.
When Jordan needed expensive school supplies, I paid for them.
When Nia said she was tired, I suggested hiring someone to help around the house.
I thought providing money meant I was doing my part.
But lying awake beside my sleeping wife, I began to wonder whether I had mistaken paying the bills for understanding my family.
At five fifteen, Nia's alarm vibrated.
She silenced it immediately.
I kept my eyes closed.
She slipped out of bed.
Twenty minutes later, I heard the garage door opening.
I sat up.
Through the bedroom window, I watched her small silver car disappear down the street.
Where was she going?
And why was she hiding it?
I checked the time.
Five thirty-eight.
I got dressed quietly.
Then I went downstairs.
Jordan was standing in the kitchen.
He wore the same gray hoodie from the previous afternoon.
His eyes were red.
"You're up early," I said.
He shrugged.
"Couldn't sleep."
Neither could I.
For several seconds, we stood in uncomfortable silence.
Then I spoke.
"Jordan, about yesterday."
He looked at me.
I swallowed.
"I was wrong to hit you."
His expression changed.
He hadn't expected those words.
"I was angry," I continued. "But that doesn't excuse what I did."
Jordan looked down.
"You embarrassed me."
"I know."
"You made me feel like I was five."
My chest tightened.
"I'm sorry."
He rubbed his face.
"I shouldn't have spoken to Mom like that."
"No, you shouldn't have."
"But you could've just talked to me."
He was right.
And hearing him say it hurt.
"You're absolutely right."
For the first time since yesterday, he looked directly at me.
"Are you still taking my phone?"
I managed a small smile.
"The chores and phone limits are something we can talk through. But you don't have to earn the right not to be hit."
He nodded slowly.
I stepped closer.
"Can we start over?"
After a moment, he reached out.
We hugged.
It was awkward.
My son was almost as tall as I was now.
But I remembered when I could lift him with one arm.
I held him longer than usual.
Then I said, "We need to talk about your mother."
Jordan stiffened.
"What about her?"
"Have you noticed anything strange lately?"
He hesitated.
"What kind of strange?"
"Her leaving early. Being exhausted. Getting upset."
Jordan leaned against the counter.
"Mom's been tired for months."
"I know."
"No, Dad. I mean really tired."
His voice changed.
"Sometimes she falls asleep sitting at the kitchen table."
My stomach twisted.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Jordan gave me a look I deserved.
"You're never home."
I had no answer.
He continued.
"Last week, she burned her hand making dinner. She cried because she thought you'd be upset."
I stared at him.
"Why would she think that?"
"I don't know."
But I knew enough to feel ashamed.
Maybe I hadn't shouted about dinner.
Maybe I hadn't meant to make her feel responsible for everything.
But somehow, my wife believed that even injured and exhausted, she couldn't let anything go wrong.
I looked toward the garage.
"Get dressed. We're going to find her."
Jordan frowned.
"Is she in trouble?"
"I don't know."
Twenty minutes later, we were driving through Atlanta.
I had access to the location of Nia's phone through our family sharing account.
I had never used it to follow her before.
I felt uncomfortable doing it now.
But the threatening message frightened me.
I called her first.
No answer.
I sent a message asking her to call me.
Nothing.
Finally, I checked the location.
It showed an industrial area near the south side of the city.
Jordan stared at the map.
"Why would Mom go there?"
"I don't know."
We drove past warehouses and small factories.
Then we reached a narrow street lined with old brick buildings.
Nia's car was parked outside a large gray building.
A faded sign hung above the entrance.
MORNING LIGHT COMMUNITY SERVICES.
Below it were smaller words.
Food Assistance. Laundry. Family Support.
Jordan looked confused.
"Mom works here?"
I parked across the street.
Through the building's windows, I saw several women moving boxes.
Then I saw Nia.
She was wearing a blue apron.
Her hair was tied back.
She was carrying two heavy bags of laundry.
A woman beside her said something.
Nia smiled.
Then she staggered.
My heart stopped.
She grabbed a table.
The bags fell from her hands.
"Nia!"
I jumped out of the truck.
Jordan followed.
We rushed inside.
By the time I reached her, she was sitting in a chair.
A woman was holding a cup of water.
Nia looked up.
Her face went white.
"Marcus?"
I knelt in front of her.
"Are you okay?"
She stared past me.
At Jordan.
"Oh, no."
Jordan approached slowly.
"Mom?"
Tears filled her eyes.
"Baby, you shouldn't be here."
He looked around.
At the baskets of clothes.
At the shelves of donated food.
At the people waiting in line.
"What's going on?"
Nobody answered.
Then an older woman approached.
She wore a name badge.
DIRECTOR — GLORIA WASHINGTON.
Gloria looked at Nia.
Then at me.
"You must be Marcus."
I stood.
"Yes."
Her expression hardened.
"I've been trying to get your wife to tell you what's happening."
My stomach dropped.
"What do you mean?"
Gloria looked toward Jordan.
Then she spoke.
"Your wife has been working here twelve hours a day."
I shook my head.
"That's impossible."
"She starts before sunrise and comes back after dinner whenever she can."
Jordan stared at his mother.
"But she cooks for us every night."
Gloria's eyes filled with tears.
"Then I don't know when that poor woman sleeps."
I looked at Nia.
She was crying silently.
"Why?" I whispered.
She shook her head.
"Marcus, please."
May you like
Then Gloria said something that changed everything.
"She's been trying to pay a debt your family doesn't even know exists."
