Now, I’m dreading the coming days. We have a meeting set—no place nor reason given—just told to be ready. I keep replaying their words in my head, avoiding my mother’s worried eyes, trying to figure out how to protect my family when the debt isn’t ours to pay.
I know this isn’t over, and somehow, it feels like the storm is just beginning.
That afternoon, after the bikers left, I stood there, staring at the deserted road, trying to understand how our lives had changed so quickly.
“What are we going to do?” my mother asked, breaking the silence.
“I don’t know,” I replied, the uncertainty in my voice betraying the calm I tried to project.
We were caught in a web of my father’s past, a past we knew too little about, and now it was closing in on us.
Later that day, I called my younger sister, telling her to come straight home from school. I didn’t want her out there, vulnerable to whatever might happen next.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the desert, I felt the weight of the unknown pressing down on me.
Our lives had been relatively predictable before all this—a struggle, certainly, but at least it was a familiar one.
Now, every day brought new uncertainties, new threats, and I had to be ready for whatever came next.
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