Chapter 2: The Room I Wasn’t Allowed to Enter
My father used to say a house remembered everything.
Every laugh.
Every argument.
Every birthday candle.
Every late-night conversation in the kitchen when nobody wanted to admit they were scared.
I believed him.
That was why standing outside his doorway felt impossible.
Because the house remembered me.
But somehow, my father’s new lock didn’t.
Leon finally looked up.
“Amara…”
I waited.
I wanted him to say it wasn’t his idea.
I wanted him to say Patrice had misunderstood something.
I wanted the man who held my hand through every difficult moment of my life to take one step forward and open that door.
Instead, he sighed.
“Come inside.””
Patrice immediately looked at him.
“Leon.””
Just one word.
But it carried a warning.
My father noticed.
So did I.
He looked between us.
Then he opened the door wider.
“Come inside, sweetheart.””
The word should have comforted me.
It didn’t.
Because Patrice stepped aside only after Leon asked her.
Not because she wanted me there.
I walked into the hallway slowly.
Everything was familiar.
The wooden table by the entrance.
The framed photos along the wall.
The small scratch on the floor from when I dragged my college furniture inside years ago.
Except now there was something different.
A new camera near the corner of the ceiling.
I stopped.
“Is that new?””
Patrice closed the door behind me.
“Yes.””
“Why?””
She placed her hand over the lock.
“For security.””
I looked at my father.
He avoided my eyes.
My chest tightened.
“Security from what?””
Nobody answered.
That silence told me more than words could.
I put my bag down.
“Dad, what is happening?””
Leon rubbed his beard.
“Nothing is happening.””
I stared at him.
“Then why did I need a new key?””
“Amara—”
“No. I’m serious.””
My voice cracked slightly.
“I came here because you told me yesterday that you missed me.””
“I do miss you.””
“Then why does it feel like you’re hiding from me?””
Patrice walked toward the kitchen.
“Because every conversation becomes an emotional confrontation.””
I turned.
“What?””
She opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.
“You come in angry. You ask questions. You criticize.””
I almost laughed.
“Criticize?””
“Yes.””
“When?””
She looked directly at me.
“The wedding.””
I froze.
The wedding.
Of course.
That was what this was really about.
Six months earlier, my father married Patrice after dating her for two years.
I had tried.
I really had.
I attended every dinner.
I smiled through every uncomfortable conversation.
I told myself my mother’s memory and Patrice’s presence could exist in the same world.
But then, at the wedding reception, Patrice asked the photographer to remove the photo of my mother from the family table.
She said it was “confusing for guests.””
I said something.
Maybe I said too much.
But I remembered standing there, looking at my father, waiting for him to defend me.
He didn’t.
“I told you I was hurt,” I said.
Patrice crossed her arms.
“You embarrassed us.””
“I was grieving.””
“You were making the day about you.””
The words sat between us.
My father closed his eyes.
“Patrice…”
“No, Leon. She needs to hear it.””
I looked at him.
“You agree?””
He didn’t answer.
That hurt more than if he had said yes.
I walked toward the living room.
I needed space.
Then I noticed something.
A door.
The old office door.
My father’s office had always been open.
When I was younger, I would sit on the floor while he paid bills. When I got older, we would sit there and talk about life.
Now it had a new lock.
I touched the handle.
“Why is this locked?””
Patrice appeared behind me immediately.
“Don’t.””
I turned.
“Don’t what?””
“That room is private.””
I stared at her.
“My father’s office is private from me now?””
Leon stepped closer.
“Amara, please.””
“No.””
I pointed at the door.
“Something changed, Dad.””
My voice became quieter.
“And nobody wants to tell me what.””
Patrice’s expression hardened.
“You need to respect boundaries.””
I looked at her.
Then at my father.
“Did you change the locks because of this?””
No answer.
I walked backward.
The hallway suddenly felt unfamiliar.
The house where I grew up didn’t feel like mine anymore.
I picked up my bag.
“I think I should leave.””
“Amara—”
My father reached for me.
But I stepped away.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
And his entire face changed.
Not fear this time.
Panic.
“Who is it?”” Patrice asked.
Leon didn’t answer.
He stared at the name on the screen.
I saw his hand shaking.
Then he whispered:
“She’s not supposed to call me.””
I looked at him.
“Who?””
My father slowly turned the phone around.
And when I saw the name displayed, my entire body went cold.
May you like
Because it was the one person I thought I would never see connected to my family again.
My mother’s name.