Out of the hundred grand, once I cleared my old debt and bought Rory's freedom, I had twenty thousand left.

I threw it down on a tiny place—just four hundred square feet. Barely fit the two of us, but it was ours.

It also meant I was back in debt. And now I had a kid to feed. Time to hustle even harder slinging mini burritos.

***

From the day I adopted Rory, I banned him from working the stand. School came first. No exceptions.

Every morning, I left early. Came home late.

Then one day, mid-burrito rush, my phone rang.

"Is this Rory's mother? He hasn't been showing up to afternoon classes. His grades are solid, but this still breaks school policy..."

My brain went static. Loud, buzzing static.

Rory always got home late. If he wasn't at school... where was he?

I ditched the stand that afternoon and tailed him.

He slipped into a scrapyard, greeting the workers like it was his second home.

"Rory!" My voice shot up before I could stop it. "Why aren't you in school? What are you doing here?"

He jerked around, eyes wide. "I... I just—"

"Just what?"

I was ready to let him have it—until I saw the fresh cuts on his wrist and the new calluses on his hands.

The anger evaporated, leaving a hard, painful twist in my chest.

I ruffled his hair. "What's going on in that head of yours? Skipping class?"

He flinched, like he expected me to scream. "You work so hard... and now there's the mortgage, and soon my school fees... I'm just this bottomless burden. I'm sorry. I'm dragging you down."

That broke me.

Too thoughtful. Too damn good.

"You're a kid. What can you even earn? It's just us now. We're not rich, but I'm not letting you go hungry. Your job is to study. Got it?"

His eyes welled up.

I messed up his hair again.

"Study hard. Get into a good high school, then college. Build your own life. And hey—once you're killing it out there, if you wanna hand me cash, cool. But not now. Deal?"

Rory pressed his lips together. "Okay. I'll make something of myself. I'll give you a good life."

I smiled. "I believe you."

He added, "I'll help you buy back your family home."

That got me. "Yeah, you will."

I talked to the scrapyard supervisor and brought Rory home.

Stopped by a pharmacy—those cuts on his hands needed disinfectant and bandages.

When I came out, Rory waved from across the street.

"I got it! Stay there—I'll grab you ice cream!"

Then—

A deafening roar.

A runaway truck. Coming right at me.

The pharmacy front blew apart in a spray of glass and wood.

Blood. Screaming. Chaos.

Rory's eyes went huge. His face went paper white.

He bolted toward the wreck, panic in every step. "Mom—!"