Chapter 2. He Come

The morning Roxanne was about to leave, the sky was a dull, overcast grey, as if even the heavens couldn’t muster the strength to shine. Roxanne stood outside the house wearing her beat-up sneakers, her suitcase, a secondhand piece of faded red luggage, sitting beside her like a silent witness.

The air smelled like dry dirt and burnt wood, the same scent that had clung to her skin her whole life. She kept her back straight and her chin high, but her fingers trembled around the handle of the bag.

Her little brother, Caleb, is clinging to the hem of her shirt, his eyes wide and wet with confusion. He's too young to understand what's really happening, only that his big sister, the one who made him pancakes and helped him with his schoolwork, is going away.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, voice cracking.

“I have to,” she whispered back, kneeling in front of him and brushing his messy hair out of his eyes. “Be strong for Mama, okay? And look after Maddie.”

Her sister, just twelve, stood behind the porch post, hugging a tattered stuffed rabbit Roxanne had sewn back together more times than she could count. Madelyn didn’t speak, just stared, silent, withdrawn. Their mother, Amelia, stood nearby, arms crossed tight over her chest like she was trying to hold herself together. She isn’t crying. Her eyes were too dry. Too tired.

“You’ll be alright,” she said after a long silence, not quite looking at her daughter. “Brandon’s got a big place. Plenty of space. Running water. You'll even get your own room.” Roxanne didn’t answer. She didn’t want her own room if it came from being sold.

A sleek black shiny SUV rolled slowly into the driveway, dust curling in its wake. It looked completely out of place against the backdrop of cracked earth, leaning fence posts, and rusting tractors. The driver stepped out first, in a suit and sunglasses, and with the kind of stillness that said he's used to waiting on important people.

Then he emerged. Brandon Stephen stood beside the car in polished leather shoes that had never known the dust of the farm, his dark, tailored suit catching the light like it belonged in a movie.

His slicked-back hair was perfectly set, and his sharp gaze, half-hidden behind the cool detachment in his expression, shielded him from the raw discomfort of the family he had once left behind.

“You’re taller than I expected,” Brandon said with a faint nod, his voice smooth, devoid of sentiment.

Roxanne didn’t respond. She simply picked up her suitcase and turned toward her mother. “Goodbye,” she said, voice flat.

“Roxie…” Robert, her father, reached for her but stopped himself. His hand hovered in the air for a moment, then dropped limply to his side. “We didn’t have a choice.”

“You always had a choice,” Roxanne said, her voice cracking just once. She climbed into the car without looking back. The door shut with a dull thud, like the final nail in a coffin.

Brandon remained behind for a moment longer, glancing at his younger brother with unreadable eyes. “Good day to you, Robert, and you too, Amelia,” he said, his voice as polished as the leather gloves he wore.

With ease, Brandon slipped a hand into his coat pocket and drew out a thick envelope, the weight of it betraying the cash inside. He handed it over casually, like it was nothing more than a tip for hotel staff.

“She’s beautiful. Roxanne, I mean,” Brandon said, his eyes flicking briefly toward the car window, where his niece’s shadowed outline was barely visible.

“Yeah… she’s got our good genes,” Robert muttered. The laugh that followed was dry and awkward, as though it belonged to someone else entirely. His hands trembled as he accepted the bag, and for a moment the brothers stood there in silence, bound by blood, yet worlds apart in the lives they had chosen.

“This is just a bonus. I’ll wire the rest later this afternoon,” Brandon said. Robert only nodded.

Without another word, Brandon turned and slid into the car with the smooth composure of a man who hadn’t apologized for himself in years. He settled beside Roxanne, crossed one leg over the other, and adjusted his coat, his presence filling the space like a shadow she couldn’t escape.

“We need to clean you up,” he said casually, his eyes flicking over the mud-stained cuffs of Roxanne’s jeans, the frayed edges of her hoodie, and the tangled mess of her hair. His tone isn’t cruel, but it's cold. Clinical. As if Roxanne wasn't a girl who had just been ripped from her home but a project that needed refining.

Roxanne didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her throat felt tight, her chest heavy. She pressed her forehead to the cold window glass, seeking an anchor, something solid, something real. Outside, the world passed by at a slow pace, resembling a memory gradually fading away.

She saw Caleb running after the car, barefoot, waving both arms like he could somehow stop it from leaving. Madelyn stood by the porch, her stuffed rabbit hugged close to her chest, unmoving, eyes big and solemn. Their mother, her mother, stood still as a scarecrow in the dirt, the bag of money clenched in her fist like it could hold the broken pieces of what had just happened.

Roxanne wanted to scream. To throw open the door and run back into the dust. But her body stayed frozen, her tears pooling silently at the corners of her eyes. And just like that, the farm disappeared behind them.

The last chapter of her old life was over. And somewhere ahead, through the steel and glass skyline of a city she’d never seen, a new one is waiting.