Now, she understood perfectly.
Darius returned late, around eleven.
He smelled of cigarettes and cold air, went to the bathroom, washed up, and went to bed silently.
Kiana lay down too, pulled the blanket up to her chin, and closed her eyes.
Everything inside her was prepared, tight like a bowstring before release.
All she had to do was wait.
Wait for them to take the first step—the final step, the one after which there would be no turning back.
Kiana smiled faintly in the darkness.
She wondered what they would feel when they realized the truth.
Fear, anger, shame.
Probably anger.
Shame was for people with a conscience.
She turned onto her side and finally drifted into a light, restless sleep.
Kiana woke up to silence.
A strange, thick, almost ringing silence.
It was dark outside the window.
The clock on the nightstand showed half past midnight.
She lay motionless, listening to her own breathing and to what was happening right next to her.
Darius was awake.
She felt it with her whole body, every nerve.
He lay still, but his breathing was uneven, wary, not like he was sleeping.
The minutes stretched into something that felt like hours.
Kiana didn’t move, keeping her eyes closed.
Everything inside clenched in anticipation.
Now, she thought.
Now something is going to happen.
And it did.
Darius carefully, almost soundlessly, pushed the blanket aside.
The bed creaked slightly under his weight.
He froze, apparently checking if she had woken up.
Kiana breathed steadily, deeply, feigning sleep.
He got up, walked to the door, and quietly closed it behind him.
Footsteps in the hall.
The squeak of a floorboard.
The click of the bathroom lock.
Kiana opened her eyes.
The darkness was dense, but she could distinguish the outlines of the furniture, the window, the dresser, the walls.
Her heart was beating steadily, almost calmly, but her hands trembled slightly as she raised them and clenched them into fists.
A muffled voice came from the bathroom.
Darius was speaking softly, in a half whisper, but the walls were thin—very thin.
“Mom, are you ready?”
A pause.
He was listening to Ms. Sterling’s reply.
“Write down the PIN. 3‑8‑0‑6. The card is in her purse. The black Midwest Trust one. Take it all. She’s got over a hundred and twenty thousand in there.”
Kiana closed her eyes.
There it was.
The exact thing she had been waiting for.
Now, in this moment, everything was decided, finally.
There was no more doubt, hesitation, or pity.
Only cold, clear certainty.
“Just tonight, so she doesn’t have time to block it in the morning,” Darius continued. “I’ll tell her tomorrow that the card was stolen on the bus. We’ll split it fifty‑fifty. Deal?”
Another pause.
Then he muttered a short,
“Go get it.”
Click.
The conversation was over.
Kiana lay there staring at the ceiling.
Inside, it was surprisingly quiet.
No pain, no disappointment.
Just a faint, almost ironic curiosity about what they would feel when everything went wrong.
Darius returned a couple of minutes later, lay down carefully, pulled up the blanket, and breathed unevenly, nervously.
He was clearly anxious.
Kiana smiled in the darkness.
Don’t worry, she thought.
You’ll be much more anxious soon.
She turned onto her side, getting comfortable.
She didn’t want to sleep, but she had to pretend.
She closed her eyes, relaxed her shoulders, and slowed her breathing.
Let him think she hadn’t heard anything.
Let him hope.
Time crawled by.
Kiana listened to the dripping faucet behind the wall, the wind whistling in the window frame, and Darius tossing and turning under the blanket.
He clearly couldn’t fall asleep.
He was probably running the plan through his head, imagining his mother withdrawing the money, how they would split the spoils, and how he would pretend to be shocked and outraged tomorrow.
Kiki, the card was stolen. Scammers. We need to call the bank immediately.
A pathetic performance—but they apparently believed it would work.
About thirty or forty minutes passed.
Kiana was starting to drift off for real when Darius’s phone suddenly vibrated fiercely on the nightstand.
He jumped as if he’d been stung, grabbed the phone, and stared at the screen.
Even in the dark, Kiana could see his face turn pale, almost gray.
The screen showed “Mom.”
The message was long.
The text flashed, but Kiana clearly saw the beginning.
Son, she knew everything. Something’s happening to me…
Darius froze.
Then he quickly turned and looked at his wife.
She lay motionless, eyes closed, breathing evenly and deeply.
He stared for ten seconds, then sprang out of bed and rushed out of the bedroom, leaving the door ajar.
Kiana opened her eyes.
The hall light came on.
She heard Darius pacing frantically around the apartment, muttering something under his breath.
Then the click of a lighter, the smell of cigarette smoke.
He was smoking right in the apartment, even though he always went out onto the small balcony for that.
She got up, put on her robe, and went into the hallway.
Darius stood by the window, holding the phone in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other.
His face was chalk‑white.
Drops of sweat glistened on his forehead.
“What happened?” Kiana asked calmly, leaning against the doorframe.
He flinched, turning around sharply.
“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”
“It doesn’t look fine. You’re pale and smoking indoors.”
He swallowed, looking away.
“Mom texted. She’s having trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
A pause.
Darius took a drag and exhaled the smoke out the cracked window.
“I don’t know exactly. Something with the bank. She went to the ATM, tried to withdraw money, and they blocked the card and called security. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Kiana walked closer, looking at him intently.
“That’s odd. Why did she go to the ATM late at night?”
“How should I know? Maybe she needed cash urgently.”
Darius nervously extinguished the cigarette on the windowsill.
“Kiki, I don’t know. She wrote that it was a misunderstanding, that they accused her of attempted fraud. It’s nonsense.”
Kiana nodded.
“I see. And whose card was she trying to use?”
He froze, looking at her with a long, scrutinizing gaze.
Something flashed in his eyes—fear, suspicion, despair.
“Hers, probably. Whose else?”
“I don’t know. You know best.”
The silence stretched on.
They stood facing each other, and the air between them was so thick it could have been cut with a knife.
“I don’t know anything,” Darius finally choked out. “Absolutely nothing. It’s some kind of mistake.”
Kiana smirked.
“A mistake, of course.”
She turned and headed for the kitchen.
She turned on the light and put the kettle on.
Her hands were calm and steady.
Darius followed her, stopping by the table.
“Kiki,” he began cautiously, “did you, by any chance, change the PIN on your card?”
She turned around, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. I did. Day before yesterday. Why?”
His face fell.
“Why?”
“For security. You were the one who said we need to be careful. So I decided to protect myself.”
He was silent.
Kiana could almost see him frantically trying to figure out what had gone wrong.
The kettle boiled.
