Chapter 8: What Mia Left Behind
The house felt different when they got back.
Mia's bedroom door was open.
That was the first thing Aaliyah noticed — it was always closed, always, Mia treated that door like a border crossing.
Now it stood open and the room beyond it was half-empty.
Drawers pulled out.
Hangers bare.
The designer bag David had damaged was gone from the floor.
Sandra had called ahead, apparently.
David stood in the hallway looking at the open door for a moment.
Then he walked to the kitchen and put the kettle on.
Aaliyah followed him.
"She took Mia somewhere," she said.
"Her sister's, probably.
In Glendale." He got two mugs down from the cabinet.
"Sandra has a pattern of retreating to her sister's when things fall apart."
"Have things fallen apart before?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"Not like this."
She sat down at the kitchen table.
The afternoon light was long and golden through the window.
It was the same kitchen she'd eaten breakfast in for fifteen years, the same table, the same window, and it felt like a stage set — familiar in every detail but hollow underneath.
"Dad."
He looked at her.
"What happens now?
With you and Sandra?"
He set a mug in front of her and sat down across the table.
He wrapped both hands around his own mug and looked at the steam rising from it.
"I don't know yet," he said honestly.
"I need some time to think."
"Are you angry at her?"
"Yes."
"Are you angry at me?"
He looked up sharply.
"No.
Aaliyah, no.
Not for a single second."
"I just needed to hear it."
"I know." He reached across the table and covered her hand with his.
"None of this is yours to carry.
None of it was ever yours."
She turned her hand over and held his.
They sat like that for a while.
The kettle clicked off.
Outside, a car went by.
Somewhere down the street, a dog barked twice and went quiet.
"I want to call him," she said.
"Marcus.
Not today.
But soon."
"Okay."
"Is that — are you okay with that?"
He considered it.
Really considered it, not just a quick reassurance.
She appreciated that about him.
He had always taken her questions seriously.
"It's not about what I'm okay with," he said finally.
"He's a part of your story.
You get to decide what that means."
"You're not threatened by it?"
He almost smiled.
"I've been your father for twenty-two years.
I'm not worried about a man you've met once."
She squeezed his hand.
He squeezed back.
Her phone buzzed.
She glanced at it.
Sandra again.
*I need to tell you something about Marcus.
Something important.
Please call me tonight.*
She showed the message to David.
He read it without expression.
"Do you know what she means?" Aaliyah asked.
"No." He set the phone down.
"But whatever it is, you don't have to hear it tonight."
"What if it's something I need to know?"
"Then it will still be true tomorrow."
She looked at the message again.
Sandra's words from the boutique parking lot came back to her: *There's something I didn't tell your father.
Something about Marcus.*
Not *something about you*.
Something about *Marcus*.
She picked up the phone.
"I'm going to call her," she said.
"I want to get it over with."
David nodded.
He didn't leave the table.
She pressed call.
It rang twice.
May you like
Sandra picked up on the second ring, and before Aaliyah could say a word, Sandra said: "He's not just your biological father, Aaliyah.
He's also the reason your grandmother d*ed."
