Chapter 1

The faded floral wallpaper of my dad’s kitchen felt a little brighter today. Mike was coming over for dinner. My Mike. Soon, he’d be my husband. The small diamond on my left hand still surprised me sometimes. He was a good man, a hard worker, trying to get his tech startup off the ground. I stirred the spaghetti sauce, the smell of oregano and garlic filling the small space. A little secret nestled inside me, a tiny flutter I hadn’t told him about yet. Our baby. The doorbell rang. Dad, already in his favorite worn armchair, called out. “Sarah, that’ll be your young man!” I wiped my hands on my apron and hurried to the door. Mike stood there, a nervous smile on his face. He wasn’t holding the usual cheap flowers. “Hey,” I said, a little breathless. “Hi, Sarah.” He stepped inside, his eyes avoiding mine. Something was off. Dad greeted him warmly. “Mike, son! Good to see you. Dinner’s almost ready.” “Mr. Jenkins,” Mike said, his voice tight. “Actually, I… I need to talk to you. To both of you.” We sat at the small kitchen table. The sauce simmered forgotten on the stove. Mike took a deep breath. “My company… it’s in trouble. Serious trouble.” My heart sank. He’d been so passionate, working late nights. “What kind of trouble?” Dad asked, his voice calm. “We need a capital injection. Fast. To buy some crucial server equipment. Without it, we’re done. Everything I’ve worked for… gone.” He looked directly at me then, his eyes pleading. “Sarah, with the baby coming… I need this to work. For us. For our future.” The baby. He knew. How? My hand went to my stomach. He continued, his voice cracking. “I wouldn’t ask, but I’m desperate. I need fifty thousand dollars.” Fifty thousand. It was an impossible sum. I was a coffee shop waitress. Dad was a retired trucker on a small pension. Dad was quiet for a long moment, looking at his hands, then at Mike. “That’s a lot of money, son.” “I know, sir. I’ll pay it back, every cent, with interest. I just… I don’t have anywhere else to turn.” I watched my dad. His face, usually so open, was etched with worry. Then, he nodded slowly. “There’s the Harley,” Dad said, his voice raspy. My breath caught. His Harley-Davidson. It wasn’t just a motorcycle; it was his youth, his freedom, his most prized possession after Mom passed. He’d polished that chrome every Saturday. “Dad, no,” I whispered. “It’s just a thing, Sarah-girl,” he said, though his eyes glistened. “Your happiness, your family’s future… that’s what matters.” He turned to Mike. “I can sell it. It should cover what you need.” Mike’s face flooded with relief. “Mr. Jenkins, I… I don’t know what to say. Thank you. You won’t regret this.” Dad just patted his arm. “See that you don’t, son. For Sarah’s sake.” The spaghetti sauce burned on the stove. The aroma of a secure future, bought with a piece of my father’s soul, filled the air. I felt a cold knot in my stomach, despite Mike’s reassurances. He promised this was for us, for the baby, for a life where we wouldn’t have to worry. I clung to that promise. What else could I do?