Chapter 6 Questioning

• RILEY'S POV
• “Where’d you get the money, Riley?”
• “Doesn’t matter, Philip. The bill has been cleared.”
• “How still remains the question. I won’t forgive you if you’ve gone against the principles…”
• “Oh, fuck the principles, Philip! When has that ever helped us? The principles were never going to clear the bills. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
• Philip’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing out of the ordinary?” He took a step closer to me, voice sharp. “Do you take me for a fool, Riley? You’ve been gone for two nights. No calls. No texts. And now suddenly the hospital calls saying Papa’s surgery has been paid in full?”
• I clenched my jaw, my nails biting into my palms. “Would you rather Papa was dead?”
• “That’s not the point!” He slammed his hand against the kitchen counter, the sound making me flinch. “You can’t just disappear and come back acting like you’ve saved the day without answering the damn question!”
• “You want an answer so bad?” My voice cracked as I tried to keep my composure. “Fine, Philip. I did what you couldn’t. I did what you were too scared to even think about. Are you happy now?”
• His face hardened. “What did you do, Riley?”
• I turned away, my heart hammering. I could still smell him — the stranger. The cologne, the faint taste of whiskey, the guilt on my skin. I wanted to scrub myself raw.
• Philip’s voice softened, but the anger was still there, simmering. “Did you sell something? Pawn Mama’s necklace? Take a loan?”
• I laughed bitterly. “I sold something, alright. Just not something you can put in a pawnshop.”
• There was a long pause. I could feel his eyes on my back.
• “Tell me you didn’t,” he said finally, barely above a whisper.
• I turned to face him, my throat tight. “Does it matter?”
• “Yes, Riley, it matters!” His voice rose again, raw and desperate. “Because you’re my sister, and because there are lines you don’t cross no matter how bad it gets!”
• “Lines?” I shot back. “Lines won’t keep Papa breathing tonight. Lines won’t stop the bills from piling up. Lines won’t put food on the table, Philip! You and your holy lines were ready to watch him die, but I wasn’t!”
• He went quiet. His chest was heaving.
• “I hate this,” he said finally, sinking into a chair. “I hate that you think this is the only way.”
• “Maybe I hate it too,” I whispered.
• The kitchen fell silent except for the ticking clock. I grabbed a glass and poured water, my hands trembling.
• Philip broke the silence first. “Who was it?”
• I froze.
• “Doesn’t matter,” I said, too quickly.
• “It matters to me.”
• I stared at him. His jaw was set, his knuckles white where they gripped the table.
• “Just a man,” I said finally. “A stranger. I’ll never see him again.”
• Philip shook his head slowly, like he was trying to make sense of the words.
• “You think you can just… walk away from this? Like it never happened?”
• “I have to,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Because if I let myself think about it, if I let myself feel anything—” I swallowed hard. “I’ll break.”
• He looked at me for a long moment, then looked away.
• “Papa’s stable now,” he said quietly. “The doctor says he’ll wake up tomorrow.”
• Relief washed over me, sharp and painful. “Good,” I said, sinking into the chair across from him.
• For a long time, neither of us spoke. I could hear the hum of the refrigerator, the faint chirp of crickets outside.
• Philip rubbed a hand over his face, looking exhausted. “You think I don’t lie awake at night, Riley? Wondering how I’m supposed to hold this family together? You think I don’t feel like a failure every single day?”
• Something inside me twisted. “Then why didn’t you do something?” I asked softly.
• “Because I wanted to protect you,” he said, looking up at me, his eyes bloodshot. “Because Mama made me promise before she died that I’d keep you safe. And I failed. God, I failed. I never thought you’d… that it would come to this.”
• I swallowed hard. My throat ached. “You think I wanted this?”
• He didn’t answer. His silence was worse than yelling.
• “I kept hearing Papa’s voice in my head,” I said finally. “When we were little, when we were hungry and cold, and he’d tell us that better days were coming. That if we just held on a little longer, we’d make it. I believed him, Philip. I still do. But I couldn’t sit there and watch those better days die on that hospital bed.”
• His shoulders slumped. “And now what? You carry this on your own for the rest of your life?”
• “I’ll carry it if I have to,” I said, staring down at the water in my glass. “Better me than him.”
• Philip leaned back in the chair, his expression unreadable. “I wish I could hate you for what you did,” he said finally. “But I can’t. I just… I just hate that this is who we had to become to survive.”
• I didn’t answer. I didn’t have one.
• The night felt heavier around us, pressing down like a weight. Somewhere down the hall, the clock struck midnight, and I knew neither of us would sleep.
• Hours later, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, gripping the counter.
• The light was too bright, my reflection too sharp.
• I splashed water on my face, but the shaking in my hands wouldn’t stop. My stomach twisted again, a sharp, almost electric pain that doubled me over.
• I knelt on the cold tile, breathing hard, trying not to cry.
• “Stress,” I whispered to myself. “Just stress.”
• But the truth was crawling under my skin.
• I counted the days in my head, then counted them again just to be sure.
• My chest tightened.
• No.
• I pressed a hand against my stomach, as though I could will it away.
• No.
• I forced myself back up to the mirror. I looked… different. My face was pale, my lips dry, my pupils blown wide like I’d just seen a ghost.
• Behind me, the hallway creaked.
• “Riley?” Philip’s voice.
• “I’m fine,” I lied, too quickly.
• I wasn’t.
• When I lay down that night, I couldn’t close my eyes. Every sound was louder — the clock ticking, the pipes groaning, the faint hum of the fridge.
• And then I heard it — not a knock this time, but a sound inside me. A flutter. A reminder.
• My own body was betraying me.
• And that was worse than any man showing up at my door.
• Because if I was right about what was happening…
• I wouldn’t just have to explain it to Philip.
• I’d have to live with it every single day.
• I stared at the ceiling, the shadows above me spinning like they were laughing.
• The bill might have been paid.
• But I had just opened a new one — and I had no idea how to pay it.