In the middle of them trying to find out what led to us fighting, I walked away.
I grabbed Rhema’s hand, tossed some smaller items into my bigger bags, grabbed our suitcases, and rushed down the corridor. In that moment, I was happy I found an affordable storage unit to keep our larger possessions. The few things I decided to keep with us made it easier to move around for times like these.
As I walked out the door,Tabithawas still loud, calling me out of my name and complaining about her busted lip. She was lucky I didn’t do more.
I stood in front of the building more confused than I’d ever been.
Homeless.
Broken-hearted.
Broke.
Embarrassed.
Grabbing Rhema’s hand tighter, I guided her down the street with one destination in mind. The last place I’d sworn I’d ever go if push came to shove was now the only place I could think of going.
Rhema and I stood in front of the house I was raised in. Many memories flashed in my mind, and many emotions stirred in my heart as I gazed at the home I hadn’t visited since the day my parents kicked me out. Tears threatened to spill as I tried to keep myself together.
“Where are we, Momma?” Rhema looked from me to the house.
I didn’t know how to answer that question because a part of me wanted to protect her, just in case we weren’t welcome here. The other part wanted to be open and honest with her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. How could I tell her that her grandparents didn’t want anything to do with me or her?
“Momma is here to handle something, sweet girl. Wait here for me, okay?”
“Alright.”
I rubbed my hand over her ponytail and then walked toward the porch, noticing that all the lights inside the home were on. And in the driveway, the same old car my mother had when I was a teenager caught my attention as well.
I rang the doorbell and waited.
“Who is at my door so late?”
My breathing paused when I heard my mother’s voice on the other side of the door.
“Move, Phyllis, I got it. Go back to bed,” I heard a male voice say.
Who is that?
The door opened, and a short, well-built older man stood there eyeing me.
“Yes? How can I help you?”
A glimpse of the band on his ring finger caught my attention, and the wedding photo of him and my mother on the wall behind him confirmed he was my mom’s husband. I wondered how long they’d been married.
“Uh, yes. I’m Ember… Ember Heart. I’m Phyllis’s daughter.”
The man looked confused. “Daughter? I don’t know what type of game you’re playing, but you need to leave now.”
“Sir, I’m not playing any games. My mother is Phyllis Heart, and her granddaughter is behind me.” I turned around andpointed at Rhema, who was leaning on my car, tracing the cracks in the sidewalk with the tip of her shoe.
He glanced over my shoulder at Rhema.
“Heart? Ain’t that her first husband?” he muttered, more so to himself.
“Yes, and my father.”
His expression went slack. “Can’t be. Phyllis never had children.”
