I looked out at the water. The sun was sinking toward the horizon.
"She'll listen to me," I said.
The man stared at me.
"Then call."
I dialed Mom's number.
It rang for a long time before she picked up.
"Lori?"
"Mom." My voice was steady. "I'm at the river."
Silence on the other end. A few seconds.
"How many?"
"Two."
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
Mom exhaled softly.
"Hand them the phone."
The man took it. He listened for a moment, and the color drained from his face.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He listened a few seconds longer.
Then he swore under his breath.
He tossed the phone back to me.
"Your mother's out of her mind."
They got in the car and drove off.
I stood on the embankment. Mom's voice came through the speaker:
"Stay right there. Don't move. I'm coming."
By the time she arrived, the sky had gone completely dark.
She was riding a beat-up electric scooter. The headlight barely cut through the night.
She ran to me and held me so tight I could feel her heartbeat.
"Were you scared?"
"No."
She smiled and pressed her forehead gently against mine.
The scooter hummed along slowly. River wind cool against our skin.
"What did they say?"
"They wanted you to drop everything. Stop going after him."
"What did you tell them?"
"I said you'd listen to me."
Mom laughed out loud.
"That's right," she said. "I always listen to you."
The scooter's battery died.
We got off and pushed it the rest of the way.
"Mom, we have nowhere to go."
She wiped the sweat from her forehead.
"Yes we do. Don't worry."
She led me into the old part of the city. Deep in a narrow alley, there was a small apartment.
"Your grandpa left this place," she said, pulling out a key. "Nobody knows about it."
Inside, it was clean. A bed and a table—that was it.
"It'll do." She brushed away a thin layer of dust.
The next morning was Saturday.
Mom was up early. She came back with soy milk and fried dough sticks.
"Eat up," she said. "They're getting cold."
Around noon, someone knocked.
It was Dad.
He looked around the apartment, taking it in.
"Clever hiding spot."
Mom blocked the doorway.
"Say what you came to say."
Dad held out an envelope.
"Sign it. Divorce papers."
Mom didn't take it.
"What are the terms?"
"The house is mine." Dad lit a cigarette. "You can have the girl."
Mom laughed.
"In your dreams."
His expression darkened.
"Don't push your luck."
Mom's hand came up fast.
The slap cracked across his face—sharp, clean, unmistakable.
Dad froze.