Chapter 2

The motel room smelled of stale smoke and despair, but it was a sanctuary. For two days, I ignored the dozens of calls and hateful text messages from Maria and Anthony. I needed the peace to process the sheer audacity of their demand. They hadn't just spent their savings; they had spent the money I sent them every month, money I thought was for their mortgage and medical bills, money I scraped together by working overtime shifts until I was numb with exhaustion.

I thought back to my childhood. Never having new clothes, always wearing secondhand items from the church donation bin. Working a part-time job since I was fourteen to pay for my own school supplies. Picking up cans on the side of the road to have money for a slice of pizza. They had always treated me like a burden, a financial drain. Now, they saw me as a resource to be plundered.

My peace was shattered on the third day. I was restocking the ambulance at the station when two cars pulled up. Out poured Maria, Anthony, Pastor John, and a handful of their most devout followers. They were carrying signs.

"PRAY FOR OUR LOST DAUGHTER."

"HONOR THY FATHER AND MOTHER."

My supervisor, a no-nonsense guy named Dave, came out of the bay. "Clark, what the hell is this?"

Before I could answer, Maria started wailing, a full-blown public performance. "Jocelyn, my child! Come back to us! Don't abandon your poor, elderly parents and your innocent baby brother!"

They formed a circle around me, right there on the asphalt of the ambulance station, and began to pray loudly, accusing me of being a sinner, of being corrupted by the secular world, of abandoning my family in their time of need. It was a circus of manufactured piety.

I was mortified. My colleagues were staring. A few people walking by had stopped to watch the spectacle.

"That's enough!" I yelled, my voice cracking. "This is my workplace! You can't do this here!"

"We will do what we must to save your soul!" Anthony declared, his voice dripping with venomous righteousness.

Dave finally stepped in, his face like thunder. "You people need to leave. Now. This is a city facility. You are interfering with emergency services. Get off this property before I call the police."

They retreated, but not before casting me looks of pure hatred. The damage was done.

Dave pulled me aside, his voice low and serious. "Jocelyn, I don't know what your family drama is, and I don't want to know. But you cannot bring it here. This is a firehouse, not a stage for a soap opera. Get it sorted out, or it's going to become a problem for your job. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," I whispered, my face burning with shame.

They had not only humiliated me, they had put my career-the one thing that was truly mine, the one thing I had fought so hard for-in jeopardy. They were willing to burn my entire life to the ground to get what they wanted.