By the time Chevelle got home, it was early evening; her mother and Farah were in the kitchen cooking dinner while Jared and Josephe watched a movie in the living room. As soon as she saw everyone, Chevelle's throat closed up. She had been ready to barge in and make her demands known to her family members, but now that she was actually here, in front of them, she just couldn't do it. Certainly not with Jared in the room.

"Chevelle, bonswa," Nadègine greeted her, loud and cheery.

Chevelle gritted her teeth, hating the way her mother always managed to bring all the attention to her when she least wanted it. Chevelle sighed as she felt the eyes of Jared, Josephe, and Farah all land on her.

"Bonswa, Manman," she said quietly, giving Farah a quick nod and not daring to look over at the living room. "Where's Papa?"

Her mother pointed upstairs. "In our room. Why?"

"I just want to talk to him," Chevelle said, turning around and heading up the stairs before anyone else could say something that kept her down there a moment longer.

In a way, Chevelle was kind of happy everyone had been downstairs, because now she and her father could be alone. Her father was the one person Chevelle felt might understand where she was coming from; aside from Farah, he had always been the family member who understood her best. And since Farah was clearly not the one to talk to about this issue, he was her best option.

She knocked on his room door, and a few seconds later heard a faint, "Kiyès sa?"

"It's me," she said, opening the door and stepping into the bedroom where she found her father hunched over his desk, squinting at some papers.

"Bonswa," he murmured, not looking up from the desk as Chevelle closed the door and approached him.

"Bonswa," she greeted.

She sat at the edge of his bed, waiting for him to set down his papers. A few moments passed and he didn't make any move to acknowledge Chevelle further, so she cleared her throat. "Papa, do you have a moment?" she asked.

"For what?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

Now her father looked up from his desk, peering above his glasses at Chevelle. When he laid eyes on her, he could immediately see the distress etched into her brow, and this troubled him because out of all Antony Etienne's children, Chevelle had always been the most easygoing.

Ever since she was a child, Chevelle had been one to just take life as it was given to her, never worrying too much about the 'what ifs' or the roads untraveled. Sure, she had her own personal desires, but they had never been strong enough to make her doubt the divine path she was on.

For example: Chevelle had always had very good grades—much better than her siblings—and when she finished primary school, they planned for her to attend a boarding school in West Haiti for her secondary education. Chevelle knew how many doors this would open in her life and she was beyond excited for the opportunity, but in September, right before she was meant to leave, they found out that the scholarship they had been counting on didn't come through.

Without a scholarship, her family was unable to pay the tuition fees, and so Chevelle continued on to the poor, rundown secondary school that Josephe attended. Unlike Antony and Nadègine had expected though, she didn't complain about it. She didn't see the point since, complaints or not, what was done was done. Instead, Chevelle decided to make the most of her situation. She taught some of the girls in her class how to weave their own raffia cloth bags and before long, they were getting together every day after school to make these bags which they then sold at Marassa market, using the profits to buy textbooks, notebooks, and pencils for all the students in their class.

In fact, the few Christmases when Antony and Nadègine hadn't had enough money to get their children the gifts they wanted, Josephe had sulked until New Years and Farah had thrown tantrums until she cried herself to sleep. Chevelle though, she was happy with whatever they gave her. She was such a grateful child—excited to receive just about anything as long as it came from someone she loved.

Now, as he looked at his daughter, all Antony could think about was how the Chevelle before him felt nothing like the Chevelle he had known back then. She'd been different ever since they left Haiti—more tense, anxious. More on guard. Never at rest, even when she was at home. She'd lost a lot of the little quirks and hobbies that Antony felt made her her, and he wasn't sure if that was just a part of growing up, or it if was because of the new world in which they lived.

Out of all her siblings, Chevelle, most of all, had wanted to stay back in Haiti. Their move had been the hardest on her.

Antony could see that Chevelle was trying very hard to keep her expression level so as not to worry him, and that in itself is what worried him most. Letting out a deep sigh, Antony took off his glasses and nodded his head, motioning for Chevelle to speak.

She took a breath. "I don't even know where to start," she said, her eyes darting around the room, afraid to rest on her father for too long. She worried that if she met his gaze, he would see how intense an anger she had been nursing for the past seven months, and she knew that her father didn't respond well to anger. Especially not from his children. "There's just something that's been on my heart for a while now," she finally said.

"What is it, cheri?"

A smile tugged at Chevelle's lips at the sound of her father calling her by a pet name. She hadn't heard him call her cheri since the hospitalization. But then again, she'd barely had a real conversation with him since the hospitalization, and sitting in his room now, she realized just how much she'd missed him. She used to hang out with him all the time, and when she was gone, they'd talk on the phone. Often.

She wondered if her father had missed her as much as she'd missed him. And if so, why hadn't he ever tried to reconnect? He was the parent, after all, he should've been the one to put a stop to this madness. He never should have allowed it to go this far in the first place.

She sighed. "I love you a lot, Papa," she said. "And I think you know that—I hope you do, at least. It just...sometimes it feels like you guys don't really love me anymore. Or like you don't care about me."

Her father frowned—a self-righteous, disagreeing frown—and Chevelle knew that if she wished to be understood by him, she needed to make her point in no uncertain terms.

"Okay, I'll just come right out with it," she said. "After what happened in May, I...I just don't understand how you're okay with Farah dating Jared." And as soon as she said that, she saw the warmth in her father's eyes ice over. She could see that she had lost any empathy she'd had from him up till now, but still, she continued, needing to speak her truth to him at least once. Even if he didn't care. Even if it ended in another heartbreak.

"Papa, he's twenty-six! Not only is he way too old for her, but he's also my ex-boyfriend. I just...I don't understand, and I've been trying to wrap my head around it, but I can't. That's like Manman leaving you to be with Uncle Razou. It makes no sense."

Razou was Antony's elder brother, and upon hearing Chevelle make such a comparison, Antony felt a rage begin to simmer inside him. His daughter didn't know about it, and it wasn't her fault in the slightest, but before Nadègine had married him, she had almost married Razou.

Antony had met Nadègine LaFleur in high school, through a friend of a friend. Since she wasn't allowed to date at the time, they had courted in secret, and although they would never admit so to their children, they engaged in their fair share of premarital sex, losing their virginities to each other under the stars in a night of unbridled passion.

About a year into their courtship, Nadègine became pregnant and she had to drop out of school. Her parents were furious with her, livid that she would throw her life away for a fleeting romance with some boy. They insisted that she must marry the father of her child, but she didn't want to risk Antony having to drop out of school as well and so she kept her mouth shut. She didn't tell anybody who the father of her child was, not even her friends. It wasn't until she was five months pregnant that some anonymous neighbor told her parents they had seen Nadègine sneaking out of the Etienne compound on more than one occasion.

Everyone had just assumed that the father of Nadègine's child was Razou. He was tall, dark, handsome, and a known womanizer. As charismatic as he was, he didn't have to do much for ladies to flock to him.

The LaFleur family came to the Etienne compound with Nadègine, demanding that Razou marry her before she had her baby. Razou had insisted that the baby wasn't his, but nobody believed him, not even his parents. And Antony could do nothing but watch in horror as his and Nadègine's parents worked together to arrange this marriage. He wanted to tell the truth—to claim both Nadègine and her baby as his, but she had begged him not to. She didn't want to ruin his future and make him end up resenting her, and Razou had already graduated; he was in a much better place to start a family. She didn't want to marry him, but she was willing to do so if it meant Antony could have his life.

One day, about a month later—not long before the wedding—Nadègine came to visit Razou to confirm the witnesses for their wedding. Antony and his younger siblings were all at school, and his parents were both at work, so Razou was home alone when she came. They had a small argument about the witness list, which led to a larger argument where Razou accused Nadègine of trapping him. Of lying in order to secure a husband before she became a harlot. One thing led to another, and before Nadègine knew it, she was on the floor, in a pool of her own blood.

Antony came home just as Razou had begun to frantically clean up the mess he had caused, realizing that people would talk if they saw Nadègine leave his house bloody and no longer pregnant. And when Antony laid eyes on Nadègine—on her weeping figure—and realized that the blood surrounding her was not only hers, but also their baby's, he saw red (no pun intended).

Antony nearly killed Razou that day.

He had never been a violent boy, but that day, he grabbed a bottle and broke it over his brother's head, and then he began to punch his brother. To punch him and punch him until he drew blood, and even then, he kept going. He beat Razou until his face was unrecognizable. Until he couldn't walk without a limp. Until the neighbors heard the commotion and came to drag Antony off Razou's unmoving body.

To this day, Razou's left eye still cannot open, and every time he looks in the mirror, he is reminded of what he did. Of what it cost him. He still walks with a slight limp, and his face was never again one that women flocked to.

I can't say that he hasn't hurt another woman in the years since then, but that's just the way of the world. No matter whose fault it is, women always end up paying the largest price.

Razou cannot walk properly or open his eye, but at night, when Nadègine goes to sleep, she is still gripped with the fear from that day. Every time someone sneaks up on her, she thinks it's Razou. She has to stop and remind herself that he is far away before she can breathe again. And up until four years ago when she reached menopause, every time she got her period, she was reminded of the child that she lost. Even today, when she closes her eyes, she can still see her child's face, bright and smiling. A void that even three other children could not fill.

Once the neighbors had gotten involved that day, word quickly spread. Within hours, it seemed that the entire town knew Antony had been the father of Nadègine LaFleur's child, but since she was no longer pregnant, there was no need for them to get married. Nadègine re-enrolled in school the following year, and once they had both graduated, they decided to finally get married and start their life. Razou didn't attend their wedding, but he also hadn't been officially invited.

It took over a year for Antony to finally speak to him again. He hadn't wanted to, but with all the pressure from other family members to mend their ties, it seemed more stressful to keep holding the grudge. Razou never apologized for what he did, and Antony actually preferred that. He didn't want some half-hearted apology Razou didn't even mean. And although they talk now, their relationship is not the same. Antony still harbors a deep resentment toward his brother, and because of that, he never allowed his children to get close to him—and that hurt Razou the most, since he never ended up getting married or having children of his own.

Antony had to take a deep breath to keep from snapping at his daughter the way he wanted to. He had to remind himself that she didn't know the history behind the things of which she spoke.

"Chevelle, don't speak of things you don't understand," he finally said.

And Chevelle, who assumed he was referring to the situation with Jared, got angry hearing her father say something like that. She didn't understand how he could so easily dismiss something that had taken her months to bring up. She'd used every ounce of courage she had to finally address this issue that had been eating away at her, and this was her father's response?

"I understand fine," she snapped. "I understand that you're okay with some blan passing around your daughters like we're cattle. That you don't even care what Farah does under your own roof."

"W ap kon joj," her father warned. Watch it.

"Or what?" she asked, surprising both herself and her father with her boldness. "You've already cast me aside like an outsider. You never call me, you don't talk to me anymore, you don't even smile at me, Papa! You invited my ex-boyfriend and his family here for Christmas, and you didn't even tell me! What else can you really do to me? Beat me?" She scoffed.

"Ou fou? Who do you think you're talking to?" her father demanded. She saw the hand in his lap twitch, and she knew that she needed to relax a bit. She hadn't been beaten in years, but if she kept pushing her luck, she knew this interaction would end with a dirty backhand from her father.

Taking a deep breath, Chevelle apologized. "I'm sorry," she said. "But it's true. We don't talk anymore, and I know you're still upset about what I did, but Papa...are we ever going to move forward? Was that really all it took to lose you?"

Her father sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Chevelle, what do you want me to say?" he finally asked.

"I want you to tell me that you'll do something about this," she said. "That you'll talk to Farah. That you won't let this nonsense between her and Jared continue—at least not in this house."

"Do you really think your mother and I haven't talked to Farah about this?" Antony asked.

Chevelle shrugged. "I don't know, but you know that girl has always been hardheaded. She needs to hear things a few times before they stick."

"Then tell her yourself," he said. "This one that you're here running your mouth to me. Go and talk to your sister!"

"Papa, you know she doesn't listen to me."

Antony shrugged.

"So that's it?" Chevelle asked. "You're just going to let Jared remain here, doing whatever he wants in our house?"

"I don't know what you expect us to do," Antony snapped. "That Jared is a sick, sick boy. I saw the way he treated you, and I told you to leave him many times, but did you listen to me?"

Chevelle's gaze fell to the floor. "No," she whispered.

"No," her father repeated, "you did not. You never listen, ehn? Because you're in America now. Ou panse ou twò gwo pou koute paran ou? You think you can handle everything by yourself? Then handle this!"

By now, Chevelle was on the verge of tears. She knew her father was right, but that didn't make it any easier to hear. She knew that she should've broken up with Jared long before she was ever in a coma, but she'd been weak. She was too scared to be alone, and so she chose to stay with Jared despite the fact that he was wreaking a quiet havoc in her life.

"Now Jared knows we entered this country illegally, and he could tell somebody. And that's because you—you, Chevelle—ou pa koute! You never listen!" Her father had to pause and take a deep breath to keep the vein in his forehead from bursting. Chevelle hadn't seen him this angry since she was a child, and it was as frightening now as it had been then. "I told the three of you never to tell anybody," he said. "Josephe and Farah obeyed, but you..." Antony scoffed, shaking his head in disappointment. "Now all of this—all of having Jared in our lives like this—it's on you, Chevelle. If Farah breaks up with him, bien, but we will not get involved."

And at that, a stunned silence fell over Chevelle.

It was in that moment, months after the fact, that she realized just how mistaken she'd been this entire time. Her parents weren't upset with her because she'd tried to kill herself—well, they were, but what they cared about even more than that was the fact that she'd broken their trust and told Jared the one thing she was never meant to tell anyone. And unlike how her suicide attempt had failed, she couldn't take back her words. She couldn't un-tell Jared.

It had slipped out during a weak moment about a year into their relationship. She'd thought she could trust Jared with something so personal—she thought it would bring them closer—but then a few months later, when Jared was here with her for the holidays, he'd let it slip. Antony and Nadègine were talking about a new healthcare bill that had been passed earlier that year, and Jared said that he didn't think the new provisions applied to 'illegals like yourselves.'

The silence that fell over the house had been deafening.

Chevelle had looked up at Jared in horror, too shocked to be angry and too angry to be shocked. She couldn't believe he had said that after she'd told him how important it was that he never ever repeat what she'd told him aloud.

When her family realized what she'd done, they all turned to Chevelle in varying degrees of anger. Farah had quickly changed the topic of conversation, salvaging dinner that night, but the rest of the holiday had been tense. Especially between Chevelle and her parents, and she couldn't believe she'd forgotten all about it. It had only been last year, but it felt like eons ago.

I guess part of it was that she'd been looking back on her time with Jared through rose-colored goggles, seeing it for what it wasn't rather than for what it was. Her time with Jared may have been better than this current situation, but that didn't mean it had been good or without its own struggles.

"I'm sorry," Chevelle finally said, head hung low. "I really am. I...I shouldn't have told him, and I regret it every day." She wanted to say that she was sure he'd never tell anyone dangerous about their situation, but the truth of the matter was that she wasn't sure. It had been a while since she'd known what to expect from Jared. Now, any other guess was just as good as hers.

"Regret doesn't change anything," her father said. "I just want you to understand that what we do, it is not out of spite. It is out of necessity. Until Jared decides that he himself wants to leave, he will be welcomed here, and that's that."

Shoutout to all of you that are here & have been supporting this book from the jump. @itsjustchichi, @whispers2u, @Khwezi02, @yanisdeath and so many more. I see y'all and I appreciate you so much<333

All I really wanted was for this story to find a small community of people that appreciate the characters and can empathize with their struggles, and I can already see that happening. It's beautiful to watch.

(@ the rest of u silent readers......luv y'all too)

<3

-nabi