Though I was reluctant to, I only found it fair that I considered the idea that Adonis was involved in drug trafficking. For the sake of not letting my emotions cloud my judgment, I entertained the thought that it could be true. I let my mind picture him up in the dead hours of the night, making phone calls to people who had killed before and would again. I imagined him getting in his faded red pickup truck, the same truck I squeezed into with Nancy and him whenever I needed a ride, and driving it to some empty warehouse. I pictured him sitting on our living room couch, smiling at us and drinking our beer, hoping that the police sirens passing by the window weren't coming for him. He would drive away from our house knowing he had done something to provoke dangerous people and hope he hadn't led them straight to us.

Of course, if I was being realistic, Adonis wouldn't have framed himself as a sketchy criminal. He would have told himself he was choosing the lesser of two evils. People would find a way to traffic drugs with or without him. He was just trying to provide for Nancy and himself. He was trying to give her the life she deserved, a life where they didn't have to worry about bills. A life where they could afford a lavish wedding.

I didn't like where these thoughts took me.

It reminded me of another time when someone I loved and trusted had betrayed my confidence. It reminded me of my father.

I thought of his thick beard and stone eyes. He was a quiet man and when he spoke, it was never for long. He was tall and towered over everyone around him. In pictures, intensity seemed to radiate off of him. It was something about the stiffness in his posture, how he never let his back slouch, never let his scowl drop of his face. He would look at everything like he was studying it or picking it apart. I had blurry memories of my fat, grubby toddler hands holding up toys to him. He was sitting directly in front of me, looking at me but still seeming like he was somewhere else, his ears listening.

I remembered how he didn't look like my dad as he fired the gun. His features were the same but it was like a dark shadow had settled over him, one that disguised any resemblance of the father who had been uninvolved at worst.

The flickers of my life that I remembered from before the incident hardly included him. I mostly remembered being taken care of by my mother. I had no recollection of such tender moments with him. It was my mother who bought me chicken nuggets after school and sat on my bedroom floor to play dolls with me. It was my mother's hand that Nancy and I tugged on, dragging her over to view are latest crayon creation. 'Daddy' was always at work and when he wasn't, he was glued to the recliner staring holes into the wall.

I wondered if Nancy and I had somehow felt that distance between us and our father. If we understood that something was off.

I used to ask why he did what he did for years and didn't get an answer until I was about twelve. It was then Tìo sat me down and told me the full story. He said that my father claimed to have done it because he thought my mother was cheating. There was nothing left to indicate that she had been. Tìo says that it was just an excuse. My father killed my mother because he was evil.

I asked Tìo what his first impression of my father was and if he ever thought he would be capable of something like that. His answer was no. My father pretended to be a nice guy until the two of them were married. By that time, my uncle lived far from my mother. They weren't speaking. Then suddenly years had gone by since they spoke to one another and he was receiving a call that his sister was dead. The truth about my father had came out. He was cold and evil. 

Like with Adonis.

Perhaps my stance on Adonis's innocence was partially to protect me from further hurt. Yet, it didn't sit right with me that Adonis was resorting to crime in order to get rich quick. Adonis showed no interest in being the best dressed in the room, the one with the shiniest car, or having a large house he couldn't fill. He wasn't in any debt either and he wouldn't traffic drugs just for fun. He was missing a motive, that was why I thought the police were wrong.

With the thoughts about Adonis hanging in the air, it was incredibly difficult to keep my mind on my work. I had the pleasure of working from home for my publishing company but it wasn't a pleasure on days like these.

I was an editor that worked with up to three clients at a time. As someone who had always loved to read, the job sounded like a dream. Reading while scrutinizing every detail to bring it to perfection did take some fun out of the activity but reading was a good escape nonetheless. It was hard to escape though when I was only a few feet away from my family who stood in the kitchen, discussing the very thing that was plaguing my mind.

"It's a shame. I always thought he was a good man," I heard Tio say. "I was certain I had given my blessing to someone I could trust."

"He was a good man!" The words shot out like a reflex. Since I had already revealed I was eavesdropping, I abandoned my laptop and joined my aunt and uncle in the living room.

"But what the police said he did . . ." Tìa pressed her lips together. It was an action that often hinted at her rising temper. "How could he put Nancy through that? All for what? More money?"

"I'm just happy none of you got hurt. I already feel guilty enough for losing Lucy to her husband. If something like that would have happened again, I don't think I could have taken it," my uncle concluded, his face ashen.

The reflex kicked in again and I found myself speaking before I could sort through what I was saying in my head. My mother's name had rekindled the passion in my chest. Adonis was not like my father. "I don't believe it. I know Adonis! He wouldn't."

"Clearly you didn't know him as well as you think you did."

Nancy had descended down the stairs as quiet as a mouse. Her eyes were as sharp as a blade as her stare pierced me. She reminded me of a ghost, pale and her posture weak - like she could float away. She had spent the last few days holed up in her room, not coming out unless it was for food. We tried to console her a couple of times but she wasn't very appreciative of our attempts. We eventually thought it best to give her some space. It was obviously what she wanted.

My mouth hung agape. I closed it and fumbled for something to diffuse the tension. Since she was finally out of her cave of despair, the last thing I wanted to do was say something to send her back. "Hey -"

"I was married to him, Mickey," she said. She took another step into the room, her finger poking at the space between us. "The investigation is over and they said they have proof that he was trafficking drugs. I have to believe it because it's the truth. Don't act like you're special or being loyal to him because you want to be in denial!"

"She didn't mean anything by what she said. Your sister is just a little naive." Tìa got up to bring my sister into a side hug. At first, Nancy was stiff. She didn't budge or respond to the touch, her eyes were too busy burning into me. Then, as if a curse had been lifted, her shoulder relaxed and the scowl left her face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap," Nancy apologized.

I took notice that she had apologized for getting angry, not for her stance on the topic. As to not drive herself insane, Nancy was making peace with the idea that Adonis was guilty. It was understandable. I imagined it made grieving a easier as well - being able to vilify him. If Adonis was a criminal who put his family in danger for a quick buck then maybe we didn't have to cry over him. Maybe we could just be angry instead. Anger was less painful.

Feeling ashamed for having brought it up, I inched my way back to the living room. "I should be doing work anyways. I'm going to move upstairs to keep on task."

I fled from the scene with vigor, collecting my laptop and ascending the steps with a new sense of purpose: staying out of Nancy's business.

Living with my family came with its set of challenges. Constantly getting in each other's way was one of them.

Nancy and I never went away for college because it would have been too expensive for us to pay tuition as well as room and board. Instead, Nancy commuted from home and I got my degree online. We each figured that once we graduated, we would get jobs and find places of our own but that bubble burst quickly. Nancy had a much higher paying job than me and after she crunched the numbers, she found she would be cutting it close with every rent payment if she lived on her own. If Nancy couldn't afford to live on her own yet, neither could I. And thus, the two of us kept our childhood rooms in Tìo and Titi's house, saving on every home cooked meal and carpool.

The house we lived in was ancient, old when our aunt and uncle purchased it and older with every passing year since. The floorboards could alert you of someone approaching when they were still halfway down the hall and sometimes, at night, I swore I could hear the house groaning. Nancy's bedroom window hadn't been functional since she turned thirteen and Tìo was constantly migrating from room to room on Saturday afternoons to complete repairs that would only delay the inevitable. Still, there was a charm to the dark wood paneling and Ikea-chic furniture. It was homey if you let the light in.

Tìo and Tìa's bedroom was on the first floor while Julio, Nancy, and I had our own rooms on the second floor. Not having to bunk with each other helped evade a lot of problems but we still had to share a bathroom and a kitchen. Heaven forbid Nancy's flat iron went missing or someone ate Julio's protein bars.

In a desperate attempt to avoid the sour emotions that came with realizing I was the only one in the family to think the police were wrong about Adonis, I buried myself in my work. Four hours later, I came back downstairs to find everyone had gone to the grocery store. Tìa left a note on the fridge saying they might take their time and I immediately knew it was because she was hopeful that Nancy coming out of her room was a good sign. They'd probably take Nancy out for ice cream like the shooting was a bad breakup and not a traumatic life-altering event. They wouldn't do it out of ignorance or the desire to brush it off but the collective confusion we all had in sorting through how to get past this strange time.

I had been home alone many times before. In fact, it was the norm. Being the only one working from home meant that for about eight hours a day, the only sounds in the house were the tap of my keyboard keys and my own breathing. What was once a comfortable silence was becoming a haunting one. As I stood in the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets for a snack, I became increasingly plagued by the idea that there was no one in the house but me.

I thought of the wedding night, how if Darren wouldn't have been there, I probably would have froze up. If I had slipped and fallen in Adonis's blood without Darren there, I probably would have let myself get trampled by the crowd.

The floorboard creaked under me and I jumped, knocking my cheek against the corner of the cabinet door. With shaking hands, I retrieved a box of crackers.

They'll be gone for a while. I don't know if I can be alone with myself for that long.

My phone rested on the kitchen counter right where I had placed it when I entered the room. I picked it up and scrolled through my contacts for someone to call. It was filled with people I hadn't spoken to in ages and didn't want to speak to after my sister's name was in the news for the shooting. We were lucky enough that our town in Pennsylvania wasn't small so the tragedy hadn't made us celebrities but the shooting had made it to every local media station regardless. I clicked onto my messages instead since it would display the names of people I actually spoke with.

My best friend's name, Kimberly, came up first. Her signature subtle smile and thick eyeliner stared back at me, urging me to reach out to her. We had spoken briefly after the wedding. She had been invited but hadn't been able to make it due to a work commitment. I was more than grateful she hadn't been there but it made it harder to speak to her with the tragedy hanging in the air between us.

Ironically, she worked at a bridal shop on Mainstreet called Say Yes. It was high end and Nancy couldn't afford much of its products. That was, until Adonis's alleged promotion. Then Nancy was able to purchase her tiara and veil from the place.

I scrolled to the messages last exchanged between us.

You know I'm not the best cook but I would love to bring over some kimchi fried rice for your family. I tried it first, I promise it won't give you food poisoning! Just trying to look for ways to make things easier for you all. Let me know what time works.

It was sent a few days ago. I never responded.

Update: I impulsively cut my bangs. Felt weird to post a picture of my new hair on Instagram without telling you first. Miss you xo

That one was from the previous night.

Gosh, it wasn't even a conversation. I was letting Kim talk to a wall.

Maybe I didn't feel like talking to her while I was grappling with the fear of being alone but Kimberly was my friend - one of my only friends. I didn't want to let her slip away because times were hard.

Hey, sorry I've been MIA. Let's hang out soon. Maybe go out to eat?

Her reply was almost instantaneous.

Yes! I'll get it all sorted out. I know the best spot

I pulled out a chair from the dining table and sat with my box of crackers. I ate them straight out of the box, feeling momentarily assured by the interaction with Kimberly. When I got halfway through a sleeve of crackers, my tastebuds drowning in cheese and salt, I thought I heard a noise. It was a shrill whine followed by a burst of air.

The wind was probably messing with a door. Julio always forgot to close the windows he opened. It was an end of the night scavenger hunt making sure Julio hadn't given intruders ten possible entrances to our house. Forget about locking the doors.

Locking the doors . . .

Did they lock the door when they left? If they hadn't, who was to say someone hadn't snuck in. Someone could have been inside the house with me. The men Adonis was said to be working with. Maybe it wasn't enough that they had killed him. If he really did owe them money, maybe it wouldn't be enough for only him to die.

I picked up my phone once more, this time determined to get someone on the phone with me.

I landed on Darren's contact. His brilliantly green eyes were just as dazzling while he was squinting from the sunlight. His picture was taken on a beach day we had early in the summer. His car had broken down on our way back but he had somehow managed to make that nightmare feel like another planned activity filled with fun. Only he could make waiting for a tow truck an adventure. If I was freaking out, he was the person to call.

I tapped his picture, letting myself be reassured by the sound of the line dialing.

Before Darren could pick up, I heard large heavy objects crumble to the floor. Their thuds were muted, like they had fallen on carpet yet close enough that I felt their collision on the floor from the kitchen. I shot up from my seat and ran into the hall.

The door to my aunt and uncle's room was cracked open. Rustling sounds came from inside.

My mind was racing. Should I go into the kitchen to grab a weapon, get my phone to dial 911 or make a break for the door? Too many decisions of too much importance in such little time.

My body decided for me, my feet suddenly running into the kitchen for both my phone and a knife. I grabbed the biggest knife we had from the wooden block and squeezed my smartphone in my other hand. When I came back into the hallway, it was to make a break for the door. The knife was just my protection. I was going to run to the neighbors house and call the police there - if they didn't call them first at the sight of me with a knife.

I must have been too loud or too slow because when I was in the hall again, I wasn't alone. A figure stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching me. They were too far to grab me but I held the knife out towards them anyway.

"Put that down!"

"Julio?"

Our voices overlapped. The boy was wide eyed, looking from me to the knife.

"You're gonna hurt yourself," he said more calmly. He took a step towards me, letting the door to the room close behind him.

"I thought you were with the others," I said. I lowered the knife and checked my phone. Thankfully, Darren hadn't picked up or else he would have heard the ruckus.

"I thought you were with the others."

Remembering the sound coming from the room and the fact it was not Julio's room, I walked closer to him.

"What were you doing in your parent's room?"

I noticed one of his arms remained behind his back. He took a step back, forgetting he had let the door close behind him. When he did, something thudded hard against the wood. He was holding something.

"What do you have in your hand?"

Julio stared back at me blankly. The teen could never keep a secret. Not even so much as a surprise birthday party or gift. If he was asked about it, he had to tell the truth. The consequences of him withholding information was just short of spontaneous combustion. There had been many times that Julio had simply broken down from not being honest. Like when he broke a window playing football in the backyard and tried to act as surprised as anyone else. A day later he was teary eyed and confessing. This time was no different. Julio was the first to crack under pressure.

"I . . . I wasn't going to do anything wrong."

"That's not what I asked."

"Can't you pretend you didn't see anything? This one time?" he whined. It was times like that one when I realized how Julio was straddling the line between kid and adult. One moment he was engaging in grown up conversation with the rest of us and the next he was of more resemblance to a five year old who was told he couldn't have the last cookie.

"I'm no snitch, Julio but you're acting weird. What are you hiding?"

He was growing paler by the minute. He licked his lips and I could see him working hard to find some excuse or way out.

I took another step forward that sent him into full retreat. He turned around, maneuvering his arms so that whatever he held remained covered from sight by him. He closed the door on me and I hurried to put the knife and phone down to go after him. The room didn't have a lock on the door so he would have to keep it closed with his weight - which is exactly what he did.

"If you don't open the door, I'll tell your parents that you were messing around in their room!"

"Mind your business, Mickey!"

"You can't keep a secret so you might as well tell me what it was you were doing now."

The door gave under my pushing, causing me to stumble forward. Julio opened the door so I could see half of his face as he scowled. "That's not true. I can keep a secret if it's to protect someone I love."

"Is that what you're doing now? Or protecting yourself from getting grounded?" I asked, placing my shoe in between the door and the frame to keep him from closing it again.

His nostrils flared. Then, he pulled the door open all the way and stepped aside.

I gaped at the ground. The floor swayed beneath me.

The closet doors were pulled apart, a bunch of boxes and clothing items falling out like a mudslide. I imagined that was the ruckus I heard from inside the kitchen. At the bottom of the mess was an open shoe box with a cloth inside it. Discarded on the ground beside it, as if it had been tossed there, was a gun.

I swallowed the bile rising up my throat. It was one thing seeing them on TV. Despite my mother's murder, I had gotten used to seeing them in the media. It was unavoidable and I didn't want my trauma to let me miss out on otherwise good films and shows. It was part of trying to be normal again. It was an entirely different thing seeing one in person, a few feet away from me, a few short weeks after one had been used to take another person I cared about from me.

"I'm sorry," Julio said, his voice softening. "I know how sensitive you are about guns."

I averted my gaze. Steadying myself by holding onto the dresser beside me.

"Why is that in the house? Why do you have that?" I tried to keep my voice level but hysteria leaked into it.

He ducked his head.

"Tell me."

"I overheard something between my mom and dad. I wanted to see if it was true. I think it was bought after the wedding in case we needed to protect ourselves or something."

They were scared. Though they put on a brave face for Nancy and I, the two must have been shaken if they decided to purchase such a dangerous weapon. But why would they think they would need to use one? I had irrational fears about the gunmen returning but that's what they were - irrational. The detective hadn't given us any reason to think that the wedding wasn't an isolated event. According to them, they were after Adonis, not us.

"Well," I said, "Now you know it's true."

"I don't like the idea of it being in the house."

Poor Julio, I thought. I couldn't imagine how confusing all this had been for him. He decided the best time to get drunk was at his cousin's wedding only to later find that his family had been at risk of dying - that someone did die. Even without a personal history with guns like my own, I understood why he felt uncomfortable with the weapon being in the house.

Still, sneaking around behind his father's back wasn't right.

"I think you should talk to your dad," I said. "Maybe he'll listen to you if you tell him how you feel."

"I think there's a better chance of him listening to you," he replied. Then, he backtracked, stuttering as he tried to further explain. "I mean that - given your past - he might want to be more sensitive to how you feel since no one really gets over something like that -"

"I know what you mean, Julio."

Feeling nauseated, I turned towards the door. The gun my father used to kill my mother had been lying around the house the same way that one did. It was there, probably for years before he actually used it. It was hidden poorly, like a diary, waiting for the day that it would rid the world of my mother. With a click of a button, she would be gone. That was all it took to kill. My father fished out the gun from his closet and bam. It was done.

"Put it back where you found it. I won't say anything about it, just don't touch it ever again."

I knew the gun would be like a magnet for my brain. No matter where I was in the house, I knew it was laying there in the closet. I wanted to know why Tìo felt the need to buy a gun and I wanted to know if he really bought it after the shooting or if it had been there far before.  

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