It was Evelyn Hart. My grandmother. A matriarch of terrifying wealth and power who I hadn’t seen since Laya was a baby. My parents had always kept me away from her, claiming she was ruthless and despised me.
She didn’t look ruthless right now. She looked utterly horrified.
Evelyn ignored the bewildered stares of the homeless families surrounding us and marched straight toward me, her heels clicking aggressively against the concrete. She stopped inches away, her gaze darting from my hollow cheeks to Laya’s shivering, fragile frame.
“Maya?” Evelyn’s voice, usually a commanding boom, was an unstable whisper. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”
“Nana Evelyn,” I choked out, pulling Laya closer. “Mom and Dad… they kicked us out. We have nowhere else to go.”
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed into terrifying, glacial slits. The temperature around us seemed to plummet even further. She didn’t offer a hug or a tear. Instead, she asked a question that made the ground vanish beneath my feet.
“Kicked you out?” she repeated, her tone dripping with sudden, dangerous venom. “Maya, why aren’t you living in the house I bought for you on Hawthorne Street?”
I stared at her, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What house?”
Evelyn’s grip tightened on her cane until her knuckles turned white.
I had no idea what Hawthorne Street meant, but the look in my grandmother’s eyes told me my parents had done something unforgivable. I had to know the truth. The rest of the story is below
Part 2
“Get in the car. Now,” Evelyn ordered, her voice leaving absolutely no room for debate.
The warmth of the Lincoln’s leather interior felt like stepping into another universe. Laya immediately sank into the plush seats, her small body finally stopping its violent shivering. I sat rigid, my mind spinning violently. Hawthorne Street? That was the most exclusive neighborhood in the suburbs.
