Page 4 of Forced Arrangement

Despite the fear, life had to go on. My mother started working at a small but busy café in the heart of London. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep us afloat. The café was a quaint place with red and white checkered tablecloths and a chalkboard menu that advertised “tea and scones” and “full English breakfast” for a few pounds.

I began attending school at a local primary school. The accents and customs were different from what I was used to and it took me a while to adjust. One day, a group of children began teasing me about my American accent, calling me names and making fun of the way I spoke.

“Look at her! She’s a proper yank,” one of the kids sneered, his tone dripping with derision.Yank. It amused me more than insulted me, probably because I didn't know what it meant.

“Is she deaf too?”

Just then, a girl with a pixie cut and a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, stepped in front of me, glaring at the bullies. “Oi, leave her alone,” she said firmly, her London accent thick and unapologetic. “She’s new here. Give her a break. You fancy another broken nose, Tommy?”

The one who had shoved me, the one I assumed was Tommy, turned a concerning shade of purple and they bolted. Well, well.

I watched, wide-eyed, as the girl, Justine I think her name was, stood up to the bullies with a confidence I could only dream of. After they scurried off, she turned to me with a warm smile. “You all right?” she asked.

I nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude. “Don’t worry, they're just a bunch of wankers. My daddy says I shouldn't say thatbecause it’s a bad word, but Uncle Sam calls everyone wankers. I reckon it’s maybe not so bad a word, do you think?”

“I don't know what it means,” I said softly. “I’m Sarah.”

“Nice to meet you, Sarah,” she said with a grin. “I’m Justine. Don’t worry ‘bout those muppets. They’ll get bored of picking on you soon.”

Justine and I became fast friends. She introduced me to her favorite hangouts—a tiny ice cream parlor that let you create new ice cream flavors and name them yourself, and an amusement park where most of the rides were broken.

We’d sit and talk about everything from school to our favorite cartoons. Through her friendship, I began to feel more at home in London.

And so, as London continued to reveal its wonders and challenges, my mother and I faced the hard times together, determined to carve out a place for ourselves in a city that was beginning to feel like home.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the game we were playing was more dangerous than my mother was letting on. And I couldn’t help but wonder—what would happen if we lost?

Chapter One

Sophia

Death is a cruel thief, stealing the vibrancy from life and leaving behind only echoes of what once was. It settles over us like a heavy cloak, muffling the sounds of joy and laughter until only faint whispers of memories remain.

The end is a constant shadow that stretches longer and darker with each passing day, a stark reminder of our fleeting existence.

As I stand by my mother's bedside, the dim hospital room feels colder, the silence heavier. The steady beep of the heart monitor is a harsh reminder of the finality that lies just ahead. Each beep grows fainter, as if the machine itself is reluctant to let go. I watch as my mother’s once-vibrant face pales, the life slowly slipping away from her frail body.

I want to reach out, to hold her hand and reassure her that everything will be okay, but I’m paralyzed by the enormity of this moment.

Her eyes flutter open, and she looks at me with a clarity I haven’t seen in weeks. “Sophia,” she whispers, her voice barelyaudible. The name hits me like a jolt. “Mom, it’s Sarah,” I correct her softly, my heart aching. I’ve spent years building a new identity, a shield against the world I left behind. In this moment, her calling me Sophia is a painful reminder of what I’ve tried so hard to forget.

Her gaze turns wistful, her tears mixing with the pain etched on her face. “I failed you,” she says, her voice cracking. “I should have never lied to you. I should have told you everything.”

I’m stunned, my breath catching in my throat. “Mom, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” I ask, desperate for answers that seem just beyond her reach.

“There’s something you don’t know,” she begins, her voice trailing off. The effort of speaking seems to drain her, and she struggles to keep her eyes open. “Something I’ve been keeping from you. We made a promise, we promised he could have you. I didn’t want to, but your father made me agree. He will come for you. He will come…”

Her voice fades until it’s barely a whisper. Her eyes close, and the room is enveloped in a suffocating silence. The beeping of the monitor stops, and I’m left with the crushing weight of her final, unspoken words.

What did she mean? Was she just lost in her own thoughts and talking about my father? She had seemed so lucid, however, so clear.

I felt a chill pass over me and I shuddered as I looked at her lifeless body. Nurses came into the room, softly touching my shoulder and guiding me to step back so they could check on the machines and verify that my mother was gone.

I barely registered their presence, my mind spinning. Who was coming for me? And why?

***

The sky wept as we laid my mother to rest. It was the kind of steady, relentless rain that soaked you to the bone, a miserable backdrop to an already miserable day. I stand at the graveside, clutching a small bouquet of white lilies, the scent sharp and sweet in the damp air.

---