Page 39 of Rafi

“Don’t mind him,” Rafi says. “He’s overcompensating.”

I roll my eyes, but the way Rafi’s gaze lingers on me sends a shiver down my spine. This family might thrive on chaos, but tonight, they’ve managed to pull me into their orbit, whether I’m ready for it or not.

The conversation shifts, and I exhale quietly, relieved to no longer be the center of attention. But the warmth at the table remains, wrapping around me like a blanket, even as I struggle to shake the feeling that I don’t deserve to be here.

Rafi leans forward, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “They love you, Tayana.”

I look up, startled by his reassurance. “I feel out of place.”

“You’re not,” he says simply, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. “Not here. Not with us.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself believe him.

After dinner, we huddle in little groups in the living room, enjoying our post dinner drinks. Brando’s wife Mia has been quiet throughout the night, but I don’t miss the way her eyes follow me around the room, until she finally approaches me and I understand her interest. As soon as she starts speaking,everything clicks into place and I remember that Rafi said he was looking for his sister in law’s missing sister.

“Is it true that you work with people who are victims of human trafficking?” she asks. “I heard the men talking.”

I wonder just how much she heard. I know that Rafi told me they’re not going to tell her about her sister’s sighting until they have something more concrete.

“I like to call them survivors,” I tell her. “And yes, I do work in that field.”

“That must be so interesting. Rewarding.”

“It is. And it isn’t. We don’t rescue as many as we lose.”

“But even saving one life, what that must feel like…” She speaks as though she’s in awe of me, and I know this must come from the loss of her sisters. She lost one to death, and the other to a system that takes no prisoners.

“The feeling is like no other,” I admit. “Knowing that we play a role, no matter how small, in helping someone overcome their trauma at the hands of another. People shouldn’t have to suffer that way.”

“No, they shouldn’t,” she says to me. “I’d like to maybe someday be able to do something similar.”

“Well, we’re always looking for volunteers,” I tell her. I lift a hand and place it on her arm, squeezing gently, letting her know that I understand her pain. “We could always use more people with heart, Mia.”

“If I showed you a picture of my sister, do you think you’d recognize her? Could you tell me if you’ve seen her before?” Mia’s voice trembles, her words raw and unsteady. “She was taken. Maybe… maybe you helped her?”

Her eyes glisten, and the weight of her desperation feels like a punch to my chest. She’s a woman drowning in sorrow, fighting to keep her head above water, clinging to a single threadof fragile hope. I swallow hard, struggling to find the right words when my own strength feels tenuous.

“Mia…” I begin, my voice softer than I intend. Her gaze pierces mine, filled with a quiet plea I know I can’t answer in the way she wants. “If I’d found your sister, if she’d crossed my path, she’d be with you right now. That’s what we do—it’s our purpose to reunite the displaced with their families.”

Her face falls, the faint flicker of hope dimming, and it guts me to see her like this.

“But listen to me,” I say firmly, leaning forward and lowering my voice as though sharing a sacred truth. “I’ve helped people who were missing for years—people everyone thought were lost forever. There’s always a chance. Don’t let go of that. If you lose hope, you lose the last thread connecting you to her. And that thread? It might be what pulls her back to you.”

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, she looks like she wants to cry, to scream, to collapse under the weight of her grief. But then she nods, slowly, as if she’s trying to will herself to believe me.

“That thread,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “It’s all I have left.”

“And it’s enough,” I say, though my chest feels tight with the enormity of what I’ve just promised her. “As long as you hold on to it, it’s enough.”

“Thank you.”

The low voice behind me makes me turn, and there stands Brando, his broad frame nearly filling the doorway. His expression is serious, but there’s a softness in his eyes that takes me by surprise.

“For what?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He steps closer, his gaze sweeping over me, scrutinizing, as though trying to decide if I’m deserving of his gratitude. “Whatever you told Mia, it seems like she has a renewed sense of purpose. So, thank you.”

I open my mouth to respond, but words fail me. There’s a weight to his acknowledgment, one I hadn’t expected, and it pins me in place.

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