01. Anthony’s Angel
Author’s Note:
Today is the day—I finally get to share Ant’s story with you. Funny enough, Derek’s Destiny was supposed to be a short story, but those characters had other plans. They haunted me, showed up unannounced, and demanded to be heard, pulling us into months of storytelling that I know you loved as much as I did.One of the standouts? Derek’s big brother, Anthony. I didn’t initially have a story planned for him, but as you fell in love with Derek’s world, I started noticing how much you became captivated by Ant—curious, enamored, and rooting for him to find love, too. Slowly but surely, Ant started whispering his story to me, piece by piece, and I couldn’t wait to bring it to life.You caught glimpses of Ant in his little brother’s story—you saw that he was falling for Angel. But now? You’re about to get the full picture. What were Ant and Angel really up to in those moments between the scenes you read? Why is Ant so hesitant to tell Angel how he truly feels? Is it really just about her son and the circumstances of how they met, or is there more to it? Does Angel even feel the same way? Is Derek right about his brother being lowkey crazier than him? And what’s the deal with Carlos?Well, it’s time for those questions—and so much more—to be answered in Anthony’s Angel. It all begins the day before the infamous car crash.Buckle up, y’all. We’re about to take an emotional ride.P.S. Before I dive into this new story, I need to take a moment to say thank you—truly. Having you here means more to me than I can put into words. This space has been my safe place to pour my heart out, heal parts of myself I didn’t even realize needed mending, and push my creativity further than ever before.Thank you for reading, for witnessing me as I practice and stumble, for holding space as I try out loud. Your presence here has been a gift, and it’s one I’ll never take for granted.Trigger Warning:
This chapter contains depictions of sexual coercion, emotional and verbal abuse, financial hardship, and parental neglect. Themes of survival, shame, and systemic struggles are explored in a raw and unflinching manner. Readers who may find these topics triggering are encouraged to proceed with care. Your well-being is important—please take the space you need.
Welcome to Anthony’s Angel.
A story of resilience and redemption. For the women who feel unseen, forgotten, and crushed beneath the weight of a life that refuses to let up. For the woman who wonders—because it hasn’t happened yet, will it ever?
But love... love doesn’t knock. It doesn’t ask permission. It crashes into you, unexpected and undeniable, breaking down walls you swore would never fall.
And now, it begins…
"This is all your fat ass is good for, Angel—don’t you ever forget it," Carlos sneered, his breath hot and labored, his eyes devouring the space between us.
Each thrust was like a hammer, driving his words deeper into my soul, a wound that would never heal.
"Just hurry up and finish," I muttered, rolling my eyes and clenching my jaw.
Tears wouldn’t pay the bills, and pride wouldn’t keep the lights on. I had to do what I had to do.
Carlos hovered over me, his sweaty body dripping onto mine like a punishment I couldn’t outrun. Every thrust felt like life reminding me how far I’d fallen, how deep I’d sunk just to survive. His low, guttural grunts echoed off the thin walls of my tiny room, a cruel rhythm to the soundtrack of my misery.
Above me, the ceiling sagged under the weight of old water damage, the stains spreading like bruises across the faded wallpaper. The air hung heavy with the stench of regret and desperation, the kind that seeped into your lungs and made it hard to breathe.
Bills leaned in stacks on the corner of the dresser, their edges curling like they couldn’t bear the weight of their own existence anymore—much like me. They were a constant reminder of why I endured this, why I let him use my body.
I worked. Hard. But it was never enough—not with a growing son who needed clothes that fit, food to keep him full, and a roof over his head. Working poor. That’s what they called it, like it was some kind of badge of honor. But there was nothing honorable about scraping by and still feeling like you were losing.
My pride, though—it used to mean something. Now, it was a luxury I couldn’t afford either, another bill I couldn’t pay. Dignity didn’t matter to the power company, and hunger didn’t wait for paychecks. My son came first. Always. So I let Carlos in, even when the sound of his expensive shoes on the linoleum made my stomach churn, even when his touch turned my skin to ice.
He wasn’t here for quality time with Derek, not really. He was here to take—my pride, my body, my peace—and leave just enough behind to keep me crawling back for help. So I let him. I let him take because my son needed more than I could give. And that was reason enough to endure.
The trailer groaned like it was as fed up with Carlos as I was, its metal frame straining with every thrust. His labored breathing filled the air, thick and oppressive, but I wasn’t really there—not in my mind. I’d already checked out, already moved on to a different life in my head. One where DJ was grown, where I didn’t have to count pennies to keep the lights on, where maybe—just maybe—some miracle or even a damn lottery ticket would finally set me free.
“Ughh…” Carlos grunted, his body jerking one last time.
Drool slipped from the corner of his mouth, splattering onto the old t-shirt I’d purposely kept on. Thank God for small mercies. He rolled off me, leaving the bed and my body colder than they already were.
I was on my feet in seconds, moving like I was on autopilot. The towel hanging from the doorknob was my first target. I grabbed it and wiped between my legs with quick, jerky motions, trying to erase the feel of him, the shame of this transaction. My hands shook as I yanked on my panties and pulled up my lounge pants.
“God damn, Angelina,” Carlos huffed behind me, his voice thick with irritation. “You treat me like I’m some kind of disease.”
He rolled the condom off with casual ease, tossing it in the trash can like it was the only responsibility he’d ever take seriously, before sprawling out on the bed as if he owned the place. His arms rested behind his head, his whole posture dripping with entitlement and dismissal.
“You’re a married man, Carlos,” I bit out, folding my arms tight across my chest like the pressure alone could wring the filth out of me. My stomach churned, shame sitting heavy and sour. Every time I let him back into my bed, let him take what little dignity I had left, I felt the grime crawl deeper into my soul—another stain I’d never wash off.
“This is wrong,” I whispered, my voice cracking despite my best effort to sound strong. “I’m basically prostituting myself.” The words felt fragile, like glass, but they were the truth—and the truth always cut the deepest.
Carlos sucked his teeth, his contempt wrapping around me like a vice.
“Prostituting yourself? You’re so fucking dramatic,” he said with a chuckle, his tone dripping with condescension.
“Oh, is that not what this is?” I shot back, my voice steady despite the fire burning in my chest. “I lay on my back so you can give me some money to take care of your son—because Lord knows you won’t give me a dime otherwise. Not since I stopped living under your roof. Not since I stopped following your rules.”
“Well, whose fault is that? I was married to you, but you changed that, didn’t you?” His words oozed venom, every syllable designed to sting, to cut, to remind me of the power he thought he still held.
I inhaled sharply, trying to steady myself, but the sting landed anyway.
“I just…give me the money, Carlos,” I said, forcing my voice into something calm and steady, even though my knees felt weak. “I have to pay these bills. And you need to spend time with Derek.” I kept my distance, staying near the door like a cornered animal desperate for an opening.
“That’s all you fucking want from me,” Carlos snapped, his eyes narrowing into a glare so sharp it felt like it could cut. “I’m just a goddamn piggy bank to you. Nothing more.”
“That’s not all I want from you,” I shot back, my voice trembling with anger and desperation I couldn’t hold down anymore. “I want you to have a better relationship with your son. But the money? That’s what I need to survive—to take care of him, Carlos. I’m struggling,” I said, the words spilling out raw and unfiltered, my voice cracking under the weight of the truth.
“And whose fucking fault is that?” he fired back, his voice dripping with disdain, each syllable slicing deeper. “You had a good life, but you walked out on me, remember?”
The words hit like a punch to the chest, sharp and unforgiving. He didn’t see the pain in my eyes, didn’t hear the ache in my voice. He didn’t care. To him, my struggle was just another way to remind me of what I deserved—what he thought I’d thrown away. But he didn’t see the prison I’d escaped, the cage disguised as a home. He never did.
"And you punish me for it every damn day, even though we both know we had no business being married," I said, my voice steady despite the ache swelling in my chest. "You didn’t love me. We got married because our families shoved us into it, because of the baby."
Carlos scoffed, shaking his head like I was too naive to grasp the rules of the world.
“People get married and stay married even when they don’t love each other all the fucking time,” he sneered, his tone cutting through the room like a blade. “You act like that’s something new.”
“That’s not normal,” I snapped, my voice rising as the frustration boiled over. “I wasn’t happy. That’s not what I wanted for me, and it sure as hell wasn’t the example I wanted to set for my son.”
Carlos smirked, his laugh low and cruel, the kind that stung worse than a slap. “You happier living in a fucking trailer than with me? How’d that work out for you? What kind of example are you setting for your son now?”
His words hit their target, sharp and deliberate, each syllable laced with venom. I felt the chill of them seep into my bones, but I stood tall, refusing to let him see the cracks, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deep they cut.
"I just need you to take care of your son," I said, masking the heartbreak happening in my chest.
Carlos’s eyes flashed with anger, his expression darkening as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He grabbed his pants off the floor in a single sharp motion, yanking his wallet out with a flick of his wrist. Without looking at me, he peeled out a crumpled $100 bill and tossed it at my feet like I was some beggar on the street.
My throat tightened as I bent to pick it up, my fingers curling around the bill with a quiet desperation I hated myself for. I clutched it, praying there’d be more, praying this wouldn’t be another month of robbing Peter to pay Paul.
"This barely covers the light bill," I said, my voice low but firm, even as my chest ached. "And I still have to buy him food. He’s growing out of his clothes—"
"You think I don’t fucking know that?" Carlos snapped, cutting me off as he stood, his towering frame closing the distance between us.
His sudden movement made my breath hitch, my pulse spiking as he got right in my face. I could smell his cologne mixed with sweat and fury, the combination making my stomach churn.
"You know Blithe tracks every damn penny that comes in and out of that account," he spat, his voice low but lethal. "This is as much as I could squeeze out without her noticing."
"What kind of woman wouldn’t want her husband to support a child he made?" I spat the bitterness I’d been swallowing for years finally bubbling over. The words burned as they left my mouth, but they felt like justice—truth clawing its way out.
His lips curled into that condescending smirk I’d grown to hate. "A woman who has four of my children," he said, his voice cold and sharp. "A woman who’s with me day in and day out under the same roof. Do you have any idea how expensive it is to maintain a household of six?"
"You’re saying my son is a burden?" I cut him off, my voice trembling under the weight of my rage and heartbreak.
"No," he snapped, his eyes narrowing into cruel slits. "I’m saying you are a fucking burden, Angelina."
This couldn’t be real. How had my life spiraled into such a twisted, suffocating mess?
When I left Carlos, it felt like breaking out of a prison cell, one built not by my choices but by the crushing expectations of our families. My mother didn’t see me—didn’t care about my dreams of finishing college. All she saw was the potential for leverage, a golden ticket wrapped in my unplanned pregnancy.
I’ll never forget the way her eyes lit up, like I’d handed her the golden ticket to a better life, when I told her I was pregnant by Carlos Steinburg. The idea of an abortion? That was dismissed before I could even finish the sentence—her words, not mine. To her, this pregnancy wasn’t a crisis; it was an opportunity. A chance to tie me to Carlos, the son of a prominent Jewish lawyer from Westonberry Hills and a Cuban mother who had gone from beauty queen to creating the largest insurance firm in the county. Carlos wasn’t just a person to her—he was a status upgrade.
What I wanted didn’t matter. My life, my plans, my dreams? All collateral damage in her long game. She didn’t care that Carlos was my first boyfriend, that we’d only been dating three months, or that the pregnancy happened my very first time having sex. All she saw was a future with me neatly folded into Carlos’s polished family, a life where she could finally hold her head high in Juniper.
Carlos’s parents weren’t thrilled either. Hell, mortified might’ve been a better word. Their golden boy, their pride and joy, saddled with a girl like me? The thought of their son having a “baby mama” was unthinkable—the phrase probably felt like acid on their tongues. But rather than deal with the shame, they rallied for a rushed wedding, the whole thing tied up with a pretty bow.
On the outside, it looked like the perfect love story. Inside? It was a slow-brewing nightmare. For me, anyway. Carlos and I both knew from day one that we were never meant to be, but what we wanted didn’t matter to anyone.
The day my mama died was the day I saw my chance. When the call came—heart attack during a church revival—I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel much of anything, to be honest. I put the phone down, quiet and calm, packed a bag for DJ, and walked out of that pristine four-bedroom house without so much as a glance over my shoulder. Carlos was furious when he came home and found us gone. His family? Outraged. To them, I’d committed the ultimate betrayal. How dare I disrupt the life they’d so carefully curated for me? But I was done. Done being their pawn, done pretending that gilded cage was anything but a prison.
My aunt handed me the keys to this trailer like she was offering me the world. And back then, maybe it felt that way. It was a far cry from the manicured lawns and vaulted ceilings I’d left behind, but it had one thing that house never did—freedom. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.
I swore this was temporary. I’d get on my feet, figure something out, and build a life for DJ and me. But Juniper doesn’t exactly hand out second chances. With no degree and no skills beyond being a mother, freedom turned out to be just another word for survival. Cleaning houses while DJ was at school kept the lights on, but not much else.
Meanwhile, Carlos moved on like I’d never existed, marrying Blithe before the ink on our divorce papers was even dry. She was everything his family had always wanted for him. Polished. Educated. His high school sweetheart with just the right pedigree to keep their bloodlines respectable. She didn’t even try to hide her disdain for me, either—her hatred seeped out in every condescending look, every clipped word. To her, Carlos supporting DJ wasn’t love; it was a chore, an inconvenience she resented down to her core. And Carlos? He didn’t have the backbone to stand up to her. Supporting his son was barely a priority, much less a fight he was willing to have.
“Derek deserves everything your other kids have. They don’t even know him!” I spat, my voice sharp and unrelenting. “You take care of all your kids except the Black one, huh?”
Carlos moved across the room so fast it made my heart leap into my throat. Before I could process it, my back was against the wall, his face inches from mine. I turned my head to avoid his glare, but the heat of his anger was suffocating.
“Don’t start your Black Lives Matter shit with me, Angel. Don’t fucking do that,” Carlos hissed, his teeth clenched so tight the words barely escaped. “I have Black friends, employees of all races. My mother is Cuban, my cousins, me—you act like people of color don’t mean shit to me.”
His voice was low, sharp, and brimming with rage, but I refused to shrink. Even with my chest tight, my heart pounding against my ribs, I forced myself to meet his eyes.
“Then why do I have to fuck you to get pennies out of you for him?” I shot back, the fury trembling in my voice like a dam about to break. “What’s so wrong with Derek, huh?”
His face twisted into something ugly, his lips curling as he spit out the words like poison.
“He came out of you,” Carlos hissed through clenched teeth, each syllable a blade that cut straight to the bone.
The venom in his tone was so bitter, so hateful, it left me frozen. The air felt so crushing, and for a moment, I couldn’t even breathe. He hated me—hated me so much it spilled over onto the one person he was supposed to love unconditionally. Carlos hated me so much that he couldn’t see anything good in the son we shared.
“You’re giving yourself too much credit anyway,” Carlos said, his eyes raking over me with disdain. “You don’t fuck me—you just lay there like a dead fish and then beg for money afterwards.” His lips curled into a cruel smile. “Maybe you’re right… you are a fucking prostitute,” he added, the words dripping with disdain.
He stepped closer, his hand shooting out to grab my chin, forcing me to look at him. His grip was firm, his fingers digging into my skin just enough to hurt. His eyes, sharp and cold, pinned me in place like a nail to the wall.
“And your son? He knows,” Carlos spat, his voice low and slicing through me like a jagged blade. “He knows what you’re in here doing. How many others are there, huh? It’s not just me, I bet. What else are you doing to keep this dump afloat? Or maybe I should say—who else.”
The words hit like a slap, but I refused to break, refused to give him the reaction he was fishing for. With a shaky breath, I forced myself to move. I stepped back, his hand falling away, and reached for the door. I didn’t look back as I stepped out. I couldn’t. I had nothing left to give him. Carlos had already taken too much.
DJ sat at the small, worn dining table, his little body hunched over the iPad, headphones turned up just loud enough to drown out the things I never wanted him to hear. His fingers tapped the screen in time with whatever music was blasting, the faint bassline leaking into the quiet of the trailer. The glow of the screen lit up his brown skin, so much like mine, and highlighted the halo of curls framing his face. Those curls had a personality all their own—wild, untamed, and full of life, just like my boy. I loved every last strand of them, every piece of him, more fiercely than I ever thought I could love anything.
The love I felt for him was something I could barely hold in my chest most days, a force so consuming it felt like it might split me open. It scared me sometimes, how deeply and fiercely I loved him. He was the reason I kept going, the reason I clawed my way through exhaustion, despair, and the hollow ache of loneliness. For DJ, I would endure it all. Every sacrifice, every humiliation, every sleepless night. I’d walk through fire for that boy, and most days, it felt like I already had.
I stepped closer, laying a hand on his shoulder, soft and light so I wouldn’t scare him. He looked up at me, pulling off his headphones with that shy, sweet smile that always turned my heart to mush.
“Baby Boy,” I said, my voice soft, “Mommy’s gonna head out for a bit while you spend some time with Daddy, okay?” I forced a smile for him, hoping it hid the tension coiling in my chest.
Before DJ could answer, Carlos stepped out of the bedroom, his presence filling the tiny trailer like a thundercloud. He looked immaculate as always—his crisp white dress shirt and sharply creased slacks a stark contrast to our worn-down reality. He stood there like he belonged, but his presence felt out of place, jarring against the faded, peeling walls and the tattered rug beneath our feet.
DJ’s eyes darted to Carlos, then back to me, his little face serious, his question heavy with innocence and disappointment.
“How come Daddy never takes me anywhere?” DJ asked quietly, his small voice so heavy with disappointment it nearly crushed me. “All we ever do is stay here and watch TV when he comes over.”
The question hit me like a punch to the chest. I knelt beside him, cupping his little face in my hands, trying to find the words he needed—the words I didn’t have. His wide, hopeful eyes searched mine, waiting for an answer, for a reassurance I couldn’t give him. My throat tightened, my heart twisting with a helpless kind of anger. I hated Carlos even more in that moment. Hated the way he forced me to bear the weight of this, to scramble for ways to protect Derek from the truth—truth Carlos didn’t care enough to shield him from himself.
“Baby,” I said, my thumb stroking his soft cheek as I forced a smile I didn’t feel, “Daddy works a lot. He’s busy, and his time is limited, but he spends as much of it with you as he can.”
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but I couldn’t let DJ see my anger, couldn’t let him feel the cracks in the world I was barely holding together for him.
I glanced up at Carlos, hoping—praying—he’d chime in and help take this burden off me. Instead, he snorted, pulling his sleeves down over his tattoos like he was already preparing to walk back into his perfect life. He didn’t even look at DJ, didn’t acknowledge the question that was meant for him, not me. Of course he wouldn’t. This wasn’t his responsibility—at least, not in his mind. It was always on me, the emotional cleanup, the explanations, the heartbreak. It was always on me to pick up the pieces.
My heart shattered into a thousand jagged pieces as I pulled DJ into my arms, holding him close, as if I could shield him from the unfairness of it all. His small frame pressed against mine, and I felt his warmth seep into me, grounding me even as my eyes locked with Carlos’s over his shoulder. For a brief moment, something like guilt flickered across Carlos’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. The man was as slippery as oil—nothing stuck for long.
“Can you stay?” Derek whispered, his voice so small, so fragile, it made my chest ache.
I swallowed hard. “I gotta go pay this bill, baby, and I’ll be right back. Just going to the Utility Office, that’s it, I promise. I’ll be right back.” I tried to keep my tone light, but the weight of my guilt was suffocating.
Derek sighed, his tiny shoulders sagging in a way no child’s should. He dragged his notepad closer, picking up a colored pencil and muttering, “Guess I’ll work on my new rhymes.”
Carlos, who’d been standing in the corner like a storm waiting to break, finally decided to weigh in when he was least needed. “Being a rapper isn’t a viable career, Derek,” he said, his tone sharp and each word clipped with disdain. “It’s not likely to work out for you. The chances are slim. You should choose something more realistic—want more for yourself.” His words hung in the air, heavy and dismissive, cutting through the moment like a cold wind.
DJ didn’t even flinch. He didn’t glance back at Carlos, didn’t react at all. His eyes stayed locked on mine, speaking the words he couldn’t say aloud—that he didn’t want to spend time with this man, that he didn’t trust him. The silent plea in his gaze broke me, the realization that even my best efforts couldn’t shield him from this disappointment.
“Maybe I can work at the insurance firm your family owns,” DJ said, his voice filled with that innocent hope only a child could muster as he continued to look at me but spoke to his father.
Carlos didn’t even hesitate. “That’s uuhhhh…not likely either,” he said, his tone dismissive, like DJ’s dreams weren’t worth the air it took to speak them.
I could’ve killed him right then and there. Derek just shook his head, slow and steady, like he’d expected it—like he’d handed Carlos a test he already knew he’d fail. The kind of disappointment in his eyes wasn’t loud or dramatic; it was quiet, heavy, and somehow worse.
“That’s enough dream-killing for one day, huh, Carlos?” I snapped as I stood up.
“I don’t lie to my son,” he replied, straight-faced.
Now that’s a damn lie if I’d ever heard one.
“Hurry back, promise?” DJ asked softly, his steady tone belying the worry swimming in his big brown eyes.
“Promise,” I said, my voice brighter than I felt as I gave him the biggest smile I could muster.
We launched into our special handshake, the one we’d come up with when he was barely big enough to reach my hands. His lips curved into a tiny grin, the kind of smile that lit up even my darkest days, if only for a fleeting moment.
I grabbed my purse and keys, my anger bubbling just beneath the surface. My eyes cut to Carlos, the kind of look that could’ve set him ablaze on the spot.
“Thirty minutes, Angelina,” he said, flat and detached, like this was just another item on his to-do list.
I didn’t bother dignifying him with a response. I just walked out, letting the screen door slam shut behind me with a satisfying crack. I stomped toward my car, each step fueled by the simmering rage I couldn’t afford to release. Not yet. Not here. But it was coming. Oh, it was coming.
My Galant sat in the driveway, beat-up and tired, a straight-up reflection of everything I was feeling but couldn’t bring myself to say. Meanwhile, Carlos’s brand-new silver Mercedes sat next to it, shiny and smug, looking all kinds of out of place against the cracked sidewalks and sagging porches in my neighborhood. The sight alone made my stomach turn. How could he be cool with his son riding around in this busted-up car while he’s out here flexing in luxury?
Blithe, of course, had her big, shiny Infiniti truck—brand-new, spotless, and ready for her and her kids to roll around in style. I saw it on her Instagram. And me? I was stuck with the G-LANT. That’s what it might as well be called since the first A had fallen off forever ago. It was almost funny—if it wasn’t so damn sad. But hey, it ran. Most days. And right now, that was all I could ask for.
The door groaned in protest as I yanked it open, the worn seat sighing beneath me as I climbed in. I gripped the steering wheel, the faded leather cracked beneath my fingers, and turned the key. The engine coughed and sputtered before finally settling into a low, uneven rumble. I tightened my grip, my knuckles turning white as I pulled out of the driveway and into the streets of Juniper.
The town blurred by, its landmarks familiar but empty under the harsh afternoon sun. The faded grocery sign, the peeling church paint, the diner where I used to wait tables—all reminders of dreams left to rot. Juniper didn’t just stagnate—it swallowed you whole, leaving nothing but regrets in its wake.
As I drove past the big houses on the hill, their manicured lawns and shiny SUVs felt like a slap. Once, I thought I’d have a life like that. Technically, I did, but it was a gilded cage where my dreams had suffocated. Now I lived on the other side of the hill, in a trailer full of struggle and survival.
I pulled up to the Utility Office, wedged between a liquor store and a pawn shop, its flickering neon sign buzzing faintly. I turned off the engine and sat for a moment. This was my reality—scraping by, stretching every dollar, and bargaining with my pride just to keep DJ’s world from falling apart.
With a heavy sigh, I stepped out, the pavement radiating heat through the soles of my shoes as I pushed through the door. The room smelled faintly of cigarettes and desperation, but at least it was empty. No judging eyes. No pitying stares.
“Angelina Moore! Hey girl!” Josie’s bright voice cut through the gloom, her excitement shining like a spotlight in the dim, rundown room. She sat behind the bulletproof glass, her warmth somehow reaching me through the thick, scratched-up barrier.
Josie always made me smile. We’d met back in high school when I first moved to Juniper my junior year. She was one of the first people to make me feel at home in this small, suffocating town. We’d lost touch when I left for college and got swept up in marrying Carlos. But when I ended up back in Juniper with a baby on my hip and nowhere else to turn, there she was. Same Josie. Same warmth. Still standing. Still smiling.
“Hey, Josie,” I said, my voice softer than I intended. For just a moment, I let myself relax.
“Girl, it’s been a minute! How you been?” she asked, leaning forward, her eyes scanning me with that familiar mix of concern and curiosity.
I forced a smile, swallowing the heaviness in my chest. “You know, same shit, different toilet.”
Josie cackled, loud and full, her laughter bouncing off the walls. “You are so crazy!”
“Maid jokes,” I added with a chuckle, shaking my head. It was bitter, but it was still a laugh, and sometimes that was enough.
Josie’s face softened, her smile fading just a bit as she took in the tired lines on my face, the weight of everything I wasn’t saying. She didn’t ask more, though. She knew better. Juniper was the kind of place where everyone knew each other’s business, but the real friends, the ones like Josie, they knew when not to dig too deep.
“Well, you look good, girl,” she said, her voice full of that same warmth that had comforted me so many times before. “You need the usual?”
“Yeah, the usual,” I nodded, reaching into my purse for the crumpled bills Carlos had tossed at me earlier.
Josie took the crumpled bills I shoved into the opening with the practiced ease of someone who’d been doing this far too long. She punched in the numbers, her fingers flying over the keys as she applied the payment to my light bill. The sound of the receipt printing echoed in the small room, and she slid it across the counter with a sympathetic smile.
“Don’t worry about it, Angel. They won’t cut your lights off. You only have a balance of twenty five dollars left,” Josie said, her voice soft and reassuring.
“Yeah, but now I gotta figure out how I’m gonna eat,” I mumbled, the reality of my situation hitting me like a ton of bricks.
“Something will work out for you, Boo. It always does,” she said with that trademark smile, the one that never seemed to waver no matter how bleak things looked.
I forced a smile back, grateful for her optimism even when I couldn’t muster any of my own.
“How come Derek’s not with you? His lame-ass daddy must be visiting, huh?” she asked, her voice tinged with just the right amount of shade.
“You know it,” I replied with a sigh.
DJ was my ride-or-die, my shadow. The only time we were apart was when I was cleaning houses while he was at school. Carlos’s visits? Rare and more disruptive than anything else.
“Girl, fuck him. Just ‘cause he got money don’t mean he’s better than anybody,” Josie said, her tone sharp with that no-nonsense energy I loved.
“You’re right about that,” I muttered, thinking about how cruel Carlos and his family had been over the years.
“One day, you’ll look back on all this and smile. Be proud of yourself for making it, despite everything you been through. God has something big in store for you.”
“Think so?” I asked, like I didn’t dare hope out loud.
“I know so.”
I sighed, shaking my head. “You’re always so positive. I wish I could dream big like you do.”
“Girl, you gotta dream. You gotta live in the possibilities, or…what else we got?”
“I know that’s right,” I said with a smirk, letting her words settle into me like a warm blanket.
“Speaking of dreaming big, you know D-Truth is back in town,” Josie said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
How could I not know? He was the big deal around here—Juniper’s own success story, the one who actually made it out and made it big. At least somebody had. D-Truth wasn’t just a name; he was proof that escape was possible, though I couldn’t even begin to dream that big for myself. What talents did I have? Cleaning houses? Stretching a dollar until it tore? That didn’t exactly scream fame and fortune.
I remembered him from school, though. Back then, he was just another face in the hallways, the guy everyone knew not to mess with. Now, he was filthy rich, famous enough to put our nowhere town on the map, and still walking those same streets like he didn’t own the world.
“Oh, right. I still can’t believe he’s here,” I said, shaking my head. The thought of D-Truth—the D-Truth—just casually being back in Juniper like it was no big deal felt unreal.
“I know, right? Just walking around and stuff like he’s a regular person,” Josie said, her smirk widening as if the idea of it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.
I rolled my eyes. “He is a regular person. Don’t forget, he used to be at school beating up everybody. I was scared of him then, and I’m scared of him now,” I chuckled, the memory of him sending a shiver down my spine.
“You know he’s a changed man,” Josie said, her voice teasing but laced with just enough sincerity to make me pause.
“Please,” I scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure he’s still the same crazy-ass Derek we all knew.”
Josie’s smirk widened. “You might be right, ‘cause I heard he tried to run Jonathan over the other night. So they say, anyway.”
“What?” I burst out laughing, shaking my head at the sheer absurdity of it. “Come on, even I know that can’t be true. People in Juniper just be saying anything.”
“Girl, you know how it is. Small town, big mouths,” Josie shrugged, her smirk settling into a knowing grin.
I nodded, letting out a soft sigh. She wasn’t wrong. Juniper was the kind of place where rumors spread faster than facts, twisting and turning until the truth was buried so deep you’d need a shovel to dig it out. Still, it was hard not to get caught up in the stories, even when you knew better.
“Anyway, he’s putting on a toy drive tomorrow. You should take DJ,” Josie said, her voice bright with excitement as she jabbed a manicured finger toward a flyer taped to the wall.
I walked over, the colors on the poster catching my eye immediately. Bold red and gold letters spelled out D-TRUTH’S PRE-JUBILEE TOY DRIVE. Beneath that, in smaller text, it listed the details: Freedom Park, tomorrow afternoon, toys for kids, food, and music. Simple, but something about it made my chest tighten—maybe the thought of DJ finally getting a piece of joy he deserved.
“Tomorrow at Freedom Park,” Josie added, her voice warm and encouraging. “You know D-Truth is gonna have the good stuff. Brand name shit. No knockoffs or Dollar Store toys. DJ will flip out.”
I traced the bold letters with my eyes, my fingers itching to take the flyer and clutch it as if it were a savior. For DJ, it might as well have been.
“Music, food, toys… and he gets to meet D-Truth,” I murmured, repeating everything to myself, as I took in every word.
“And you know how much Derek loves his music,” Josie said, her voice dipping into a softer tone. “This could be a big deal for him, Angel. It might be a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Who knows when D-Truth will swing back through Juniper again? Might be another ten years.”
For my son, who idolized him, meeting D-Truth wasn’t just exciting—it would be monumental.
I turned back to Josie, my lips curving into a small, genuine smile that surprised even me. “You think it’ll be crowded?”
“It’s D-Truth. Of course it’ll be crowded!” she laughed, throwing her head back in that way that always seemed to make the room lighter. “But get there early, and you’ll be fine. And trust me, it’ll be worth it just to see DJ’s face when he sees all those toys and meets his hero. Maybe he can even rap for him.”
The thought of DJ’s smile, wide and uncontainable, lit a spark in my chest. He deserved this—something pure, something happy, something that wasn’t weighed down by bills or arguments or the constant worry I tried so hard to keep hidden from him.
“DJ would kill me if I didn’t take him,” I said, the excitement bubbling just beneath the surface of my words. “We’re definitely going.”
Just then, my phone buzzed in my bag, pulling me out of the moment. I dug through the mess of receipts and loose change until I found it, the screen lighting up with the same name that always made my stomach tighten.
Carlos: I gotta go.
I rolled my eyes, the brief flicker of happiness I’d felt just moments ago dimming. Of course, Carlos couldn’t manage more than a half an hour with his own son. It was always the same—a quick appearance, a handful of excuses, and then he was gone, like spending time with DJ was some monumental effort.
I shoved the phone back into my bag with more force than necessary, determined not to let him ruin the little bit of light Josie had just given me. Tomorrow wasn’t about Carlos. It was about my son, about giving him a memory he could hold on to, something to remind him that joy still existed in the cracks of our everyday life.
“You know I’m here if you need anything,” Josie said softly, her eyes meeting mine as if she knew that was Carlos texting me.
“I know,” I replied, the gratitude in my chest too tangled with everything else for me to say more.
Josie gave me a bright, reassuring smile, one that felt like sunlight breaking through a cloudy day. “Take care of yourself, Angel. And don’t forget—tomorrow, Freedom Park.”
I nodded, tucking the receipt into my purse before turning to leave. I was halfway out the door when I collided with something—no, someone—so solid, it nearly knocked me off my feet.
“Holy shit!” I gasped, stumbling backward as my heart shot up into my throat. My feet tangled beneath me, and just as I braced myself to hit the ground, strong hands caught me. The grip was steady, firm but gentle, like whoever it was had experience keeping people from falling apart—literally or figuratively.
It took a second for my brain to catch up. Did they put a new door here that I didn’t remember? No, it wasn’t a wall. It was a man. A solid man. And not just any man—Anthony Harris.
D-Truth’s brother.
My mouth went dry as I took him in—broad shoulders, sharp features, and a presence that seemed to command the entire space. His deep brown eyes locked onto mine, unreadable. Yet, for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
“You okay?” he asked, his deep voice rumbling like thunder, though there was an edge of concern that softened the storm.
I blinked, trying to pull myself together as I nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
He released me slowly, his hands lingering just a fraction of a second longer than necessary, his gaze scanning my face like he was trying to figure me out.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”
I managed a shaky laugh, still trying to process the unexpected encounter. “Thanks. That would’ve been embarrassing.”
He smiled just a little then—just a small curve of his lips—but it was enough to spark something inside me, something I hadn’t felt in years.
“Well, take care,” he said, stepping aside to let me pass, his eyes lingering on me just a moment longer before he turned to Josie, his tone easing into something light and familiar. “What’s up, Josie Jo?”
“Anthony! I see your brother’s having a toy drive tomorrow,” Josie’s voice faded into the background as I slipped out the door.
I shook my head, trying to ground myself. It had been years since I’d been touched by a man who wasn’t Carlos—someone who wasn’t taking or using me. It felt good, unfamiliar though. I couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at me with care, like I mattered.
As I drove home, the moment played in my head on repeat. What would it feel like to be held by a man like that? To be protected—maybe even by him again…Anthony.
I’d seen him around before of course. Juniper’s small like that. But not often, and when I did, he wasn’t the smiling or small-talk type. He always looked deep in thought, like life had put something heavy on his back and he carried it without complaint. Most times he was with his people, usually his mama. You could tell he took care of her, took care of them—like family was his whole world.
For a split second, I let myself wonder—what would it feel like to have someone hold me down like that? To not have to carry it all alone. But I shook it off quick. That kind of care, that was a fairy tale, and I’d stopped believing in those a long time ago.
When I pulled up to my trailer and saw Carlos’s car already gone, leaving my son unattended yet again, a bitter chuckle escaped me. I was trippin’ for sure. Anthony catching me wasn’t that deep. A man like him? He wouldn’t even notice me. Girls like me—women who scrub other people’s floors to survive—had always been invisible. Hell, even Anthony had literally run into me like I wasn’t even there.
I’d never dare to truly dream that dream. Dreams like that weren’t meant for someone like me. But as I stepped into the house and saw DJ’s face light up, his smile so pure it cut straight through the heaviness in my chest, I was reminded of what truly mattered. It was me and him. Just me and my boy. My Derek. He was my world. My reason. My everything.
Tomorrow, I’d give him a day he’d never forget—a glimpse of magic, a spark of hope. Because even if I couldn’t dream big for myself, I wanted him to dream as big as the sky. And maybe, just maybe, watching him dream would remind me how to do it too.
End of Chapter Questions (let’s chat in the comments):
What are your first impressions of Angel and the sacrifices she’s making for her son? How does her situation make you feel about her resilience and choices?
How do you feel about Carlos’s behavior toward Angel and DJ? Do you think he truly believes what he says, or is he projecting his own issues?
Angel mentions feeling invisible and trapped by her circumstances. Have you ever felt stuck or overlooked in your own life? How do you think she can begin to find her way forward?
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