things get worse.” It sounded less like a plea and more like a threat, but I tried to ignore that. “I’ll think about it,” I lied, because I didn’t know what else to say. My mind was a tumble of worry and betrayal, of love and anger tangled so tightly I couldn’t tell them apart. He stood. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He didn’t hug me. Didn’t kiss my cheek. He just walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the rain, pulling it shut behind him. For a long moment after he left, I stayed where I was, staring at the empty space he’d occupied. The ticking of the clock sounded louder. The house felt colder. I looked toward the coat rack, toward the green winter coat. A strange feeling crept up my spine, like fingers of ice. I didn’t know why that coat, of all things, suddenly made my heart beat faster. I told myself it was nothing. Just my nerves. Just age. I was wrong. A few minutes later, I heard Laya’s footsteps on the stairs. They were cautious, measured. She appeared in the doorway, her face pale, eyes too big. “Grandma,” she said softly. “There’s something you need to know.” The seriousness in her tone pushed me to my feet before I understood why. “What is it, honey?” I asked, walking toward her. “Are you feeling worse?” She shook her head, swallowing. “It’s… it’s about Dad. About earlier. When you were upstairs.” A tremor ran through her words. She told me everything. She told me about hearing the key in the door. About seeing her father slip something into my coat pocket. About his phone call and the words old woman hiding drugs in her house. About the way her hands shook as she pulled the bag from my coat and hid it in her own pocket. As she spoke, my chest tightened. The world narrowed to her voice and the roar of my own blood in my ears. “Where is it now?” I whispered when she finished. Her fingers moved, slow and reluctant, into the pocket of her sweatpants. She pulled out the plastic bag, holding it between thumb and forefinger as if it were something poisonous. I stared. I have never lost consciousness in my life, but for a moment the room tilted, the edges of my vision darkening. My son. My boy. The one I had fed and clothed and comforted, the one whose feverish forehead I had pressed cool cloths against, whose nightmares I soothed, had hidden that… that thing in my house, in my coat. In my mind, a line from one of my father’s old sermons floated up—something about the heart being deceitful above all things. I had never truly understood it until that moment. Betrayal doesn’t scream. It whispers. It slips a hand into your pocket when you aren’t looking. “We have to get rid of it,” I said, my voice sounding distant in my own ears. “Now.” Laya’s eyes filled with tears. “We should take it to the police, shouldn’t we?” she asked. “So they know it isn’t yours?” “They will never believe an old woman who had drugs in her coat,” I said bitterly, surprising myself with the cynicism in my own words. “Not when whoever called them will say they knew I had them hidden.” I took a breath. Another. Tried to think clearly. “We’ll get rid of it,” I repeated, calmer this time. “And then, tomorrow, we’ll go to the police with what you saw. With what you recorded.” Her eyes widened. “You knew?” I allowed myself a small, proud smile despite the storm raging in my chest. “You think I raised one child and one grandchild and don’t recognize the shape of a phone hidden in a sleeve?” I said. “You were right to record. Keep the recording safe. But this”—I glanced at the bag—“we can’t keep in the house. Not when we know they’ll be coming.” I looked at the clock on the wall. 8:55 p.m. We didn’t have much time. We wrapped the bag in a kitchen towel, careful not to touch it more than necessary, as if it could burn. The rain was still pounding outside, but we didn’t bother with coats. We slipped out the back door into the night, the air cold and sharp against our cheeks. The garden was slick with mud. The tomato plants drooped under the weight of raindrops, their leaves trembling in the wind. The soil, softened by hours of water, gave way easily under my old trowel. Together, we dug a small hole near the back, where the fence sagged slightly. My hands shook as I dropped the wrapped bag into the earth. The towel soaked up mud instantly, turning brown and heavy. We covered it, pressing the soil down with our palms, our breath catching in little gasps. “What if they bring dogs?” Laya whispered. “What if they dig up the whole yard?” “Then they’ll find a towel in the dirt and nothing else,” I said, forcing steadiness into my tone. “And we’ll deal with that if it happens. One thing at a time.” We stood there a moment in the rain, two figures in the dim light spilling from the kitchen window, old and young, dripping and scared and stubborn. Then we went back inside. When we stepped into the warmth of the kitchen, the clock read 8:59. “Go change,” I told Laya quietly. “If they come, I don’t want you shivering from wet clothes.” “What about you?” I pointed to my robe on the hook. “I’ll be fine. I’ve lived through worse storms than this.” Her mouth quirked, just barely, in a grim approximation of a smile. She dashed upstairs, the wet hem of her pants marking faint prints on the steps. I barely had time to hang up the trowel before the doorbell rang. This time the sound wasn’t just insistent; it was sharp, official. Laya froze halfway down the stairs, clutching the banister. I took a deep breath and went to the door. Through the frosted glass, I could make out two shapes. I opened it to find a man and a woman standing on the front porch, rain glistening on their hats. They wore uniforms—dark blue, patches on their shoulders, badges that caught the porch light. “Good evening, ma’am,” the older man said. His voice was calm but serious. “I’m Sergeant Alan Cooper. This is Officer Ramirez.” The young woman beside him nodded, pen in hand, notepad at the ready. “We received an anonymous report about illegal substances at this address. May we come in?” My hands were trembling, but I kept my chin up. Years of cleaning houses for people who looked at me as if I were invisible had taught me how to stand upright even when my heart wanted to curl in on itself. “Of course,” I said. “Please wipe your feet.” They stepped inside. The house suddenly felt smaller, the walls closer. Laya stayed in the shadows of the staircase, one step above the
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