After Eight years, Ghenesis Santiago leaves for Atlanta, Ga to try having a relationship with her father and his new family. While having to maintain her senior year in highschool and working with her brother and his Crew under her father's orders...
So I pulled her into a hug and held her close, burying my face into her shoulder. “I promise I’ll try,” I whispered. That was all I could give. The least I could do.
She rubbed my back gently and kissed the center of my forehead, just like Mama used to do.
And then—honk-honk—the cab pulled up outside.
I grabbed my things and walked toward the door, taking one last look at the woman who stepped in when everything else around me fell apart.
“I promise I’ll be back for Christmas,” I said with a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.
Aunt Ella blew me a kiss, and I caught it midair, pressing it to my chest before stepping out into the humid D.C. morning. The cab driver popped the trunk, and I handed him my bags before sliding into the backseat.
“This is gonna be a long-ass year,” I muttered under my breath.
The driver got in, glanced at me through the rearview mirror, and asked, “Where to, miss?”
I felt my throat tighten but didn’t correct him. Not today. I just stared out the window and said, “Dale Rogers Airport, please.”
He nodded and started the engine.
As the car rolled down the block, I leaned my forehead against the glass. The streets I’d grown up on blurred by—the basketball court I used to sit by alone, the corner store Auntie used to send me to for plantain chips, the mural of my mom painted near the old church.
Goodbye, Washington, D.C. Hello, Atlanta.
I wasn’t sure what was waiting for me down there—just that I’d be stepping into the house of a man who once looked my mother in the eye and said I wasn’t his. I didn’t know how to forgive him. Not yet.
But I did know one thing:
Wherever I went, I wasn’t leaving myself behind.
Meanwhile
Atlanta State Penitentiary
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"Hawkins, on your feet."
One of the guards barked it like he had some kind of authority over my soul. I opened my eyes slow, already knowing what day it was.
After two long-ass years, I was finally getting out.
The metal gate slid open with that same screech I’d heard every morning—but today, it sounded different. Like freedom. I stood, rolled my shoulders back, and held my wrists out.
Click-clack.
Cold cuffs, same routine. Two guards fell in behind me like shadows, but I stayed focused on that hallway ahead.
"I swear if I was the judge," one of them muttered behind me, real low, "I'd have sentenced this piece of shit to life."
I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth hurt. Every muscle in my body tensed, but I kept walking. If I turned around and cracked his jaw in half like I wanted, they’d slap me with another charge. I wasn’t about to let some bootlicker keep me caged.
Not today.
We made it to the release room. They handed me a basic white tee, some stiff jeans, and a pair of plain black Vans. I changed quick. The clothes felt like paper, like I wasn’t even real yet. Then came the clear plastic bag with my belongings—wallet, chain, watch, and a folder with my release orders and probation info.
“Don’t want to see you back here, Zeus. Take care of yourself, alright? Your father’s outside.”
Mr. Derrick. The only CO who treated me like a damn human being. No sideways comments, no petty power trips. Just respect. I gave him a small nod—nothing too emotional. He knew what it meant.
Then I stepped outside.
The air hit different. Heavy but clean. The sun sat low and warm, and I took my time walking down that concrete path. It felt like my lungs were learning to breathe again.
And then I saw it. A sleek black SUV parked right at the front. Of course.
A security guard stepped out and opened the back door like I was some VIP, but I already knew who was waiting on the other side. I slid in, and just like that, the past caught up to me.
The smell hit first. Applewood cigar. I used to love it—back when I didn’t know better. Now it made my stomach twist.
“I see solitary confinement did you some good,” came that familiar voice—smooth, calculated, empty.
He glanced at me, eyes sharp as ever, sizing me up like he was assessing an investment. “Hopefully you learned a lesson about fucking up. 'Cause like I always said—failure equals punishment.”
Same speech. Same tone. Different day, same bullshit.
I didn’t say a word. Just leaned back, hands clasped, staring at the tinted window while the car pulled off. I let him talk. Let him rap that tired-ass monologue he’d been rehearsing since I was nine.
“Once we get home, it’s back to regular schedule with you and your boys. Same cut. Same rules. You’ll be enrolled in school too—that’s mandatory if you wanna stay free.”
I could feel it boiling in me. That heat. That rage. I kept my breathing steady, jaw tight.
All I could think about was grabbing that cigar out his hand, jamming it down his throat, and watching him choke on his own damn ego. Maybe stab him in the neck with a wine glass for dessert. But I couldn’t. Not yet.
And then he dropped the bomb like it was nothing.
“Oh yeah,” he added casually, scrolling through his phone, “we’ll be having a new addition to the family. Well… old addition. Your brother’s coming to live with us. Guess it’s time you two get acquainted.”
Brother?
The word hit weird. Heavy. Like swallowing glass.
I looked out the window again, fists balled in my lap.
Great. A beautiful fuckin’ day to meet my dear old half-brother.
