CHAPTER 18
The next morning, I prepared Jordan for school and dropped him off.
There was something about mornings with him that felt… almost normal. Fixing his collar, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulders, watching him walk away with his bag hanging slightly off one side like he never cared enough to fix it—it grounded me in a way nothing else could.
I stood there for a few seconds longer than I should have, watching him disappear into the school gates before I finally turned away.
From there, I went to a beauty salon to get my nails done.
I sat in the chair, my hands stretched out in front of me while the beautician worked on them, filing, shaping, talking about things I wasn't even paying attention to. The smell of acetone and polish filled the air, mixed with soft chatter and the occasional laughter from the other women.
Everything felt… normal.
Too normal.
And then—
Something shifted.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't something you could point at and say there it is.
But my body reacted before my mind could catch up.
The tiny hairs on my arms rose.
A cold rush slid down my spine, slow and deliberate, like fingers tracing along my back.
I felt it.
That feeling.
The one you don't ignore.
Someone was looking at me.
"Excuse me, can I get a lemonade?" I said casually, keeping my voice steady.
A distraction.
She nodded and turned away, and that was all I needed.
I slowly turned my head, scanning the room.
Women talking.
Dryers humming.
Nothing out of place.
Nothing threatening.
For a second, I almost thought I was overthinking it.
Until I turned slightly and caught the mirror.
And there—
To the far left—
A man.
Holding a newspaper.
But he wasn't reading it.
He was watching me.
From the corner of it.
His eyes would flick up for a second, then drop back down like he thought he was slick.
Why is he looking at me?
The question lingered, heavy and uncomfortable.
I got my nails done and left.
I didn't rush. I didn't look back.
But I felt it.
That presence.
Like something trailing behind me.
I went to a nearby restaurant.
Sat down.
Ordered.
And just as I was settling in—
He walked in.
Same man.
Same newspaper.
Same eyes.
That was all I needed to know.
He wasn't just looking.
He was following.
I ordered the fluffy spinach soufflé.
Something I had never had before.
I only ordered it because Lupita had been talking about it non-stop like it was some kind of life-changing experience.
When it arrived, I took a bite.
It melted in my mouth instantly.
Soft. Light. Almost too perfect.
And for some reason… it made my heart sink.
Not in a good way.
It didn't feel like food.
It felt like something designed for people who had never had to struggle for a meal. Something delicate, expensive, unnecessary.
I preferred tuna casserole.
Something heavy.
Something that stayed.
Something real.
But I wasn't about to waste money.
So I ate it.
All of it.
Every last bite.
When I left, I didn't get into the car.
I walked.
Slow.
Measured.
Letting my footsteps echo just enough.
I wanted him to follow.
And he did.
Right on cue.
I led him to an old railway road under a bridge.
The place was quiet. Isolated. The kind of place where voices bounce back at you and footsteps sound louder than they should.
Rust covered the rails. The air smelled old… like dust and metal and forgotten things.
There were multiple turns.
I took one.
Then slipped into the next and pressed myself against the wall, waiting.
Listening.
His footsteps came.
Closer.
Steady.
He took the bait.
The moment he turned—
I stepped out and pressed the gun to the back of his head.
"Don't move."
My voice was calm.
Too calm.
I moved around him slowly until I was standing in front of him, taking in his face.
Foreign.
Nervous.
Already sweating.
"Why the hell are you following me around? Who sent you?"
"I—I'm not following you!" he stammered.
I stared at him.
This man really thought I was playing.
I hit him.
Hard.
My fist connected with his mouth and split his lip open instantly. Blood spilled, bright and fresh, and he staggered slightly.
"I'll ask again," I said, my voice dropping lower, colder, "and it's going to be the last time I do. Why are you following me?"
"Okay! Okay! Just don't pull the trigger!" he panicked, his whole body shaking.
"I'm a journalist from the UK… when I saw you at the salon, I couldn't believe it. The famous killer Brandi Knowles was right in front of me. I thought I'd take pictures… make a story… and it would be easier for the police to get you…"
Even as he spoke, his voice trembled.
This idiot was trying to turn me in.
Indirectly.
But still.
I looked at him.
Really looked at him.
And for a split second… I imagined it.
Gouging his eyes out.
Watching him beg.
Watching him understand exactly who he decided to follow.
"How much are they paying for me?" I asked.
"Half a million."
Half a million.
For me.
For turning me in.
I almost laughed.
I wasn't about to pay him to keep quiet.
That's not how I was built.
I came from the streets.
And the streets don't negotiate.
"Now listen… and listen real good," I said, pressing the gun harder against his head. "Next time I see you anywhere in Singapore… or even get a hint that you're still here… I'll be the last person you ever see."
He swallowed hard.
I leaned closer.
"And if I hear that anyone has my location apart from your sorry self… I don't think I have to tell you just how vile I can be."
I stepped back.
"Now get the fuck up… and leave."
He didn't hesitate.
He ran.
There was a bounty on my head.
Clear as day.
I drove home.
Jordan was already there.
Kora had picked him up.
I walked in… but my mind wasn't there.
I was already somewhere else.
Packing.
Leaving.
Running again.
Then Jordan came to me.
Climbed onto my lap without saying a word.
His small hands came up and held my face gently, like I was something fragile.
He kissed my forehead.
Soft.
Slow.
And before I could even react…
He fell asleep.
Just like that.
I held him.
Quietly.
My hands resting on his back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
What if Mama had stayed back in Africa?
Would she still be alive?
Would I be different?
Would my hands be clean?
Would I be someone my son could fully know?
But what's done…
Is done.
The door opened.
The ladies walked in.
Sat down.
Silent.
Too silent.
Lupita cleared her throat.
"Someone was following me today."
I turned to her.
Then one by one… they all said the same thing.
Someone was on to us.
I took my baby upstairs.
Tucked him in.
Watched him breathe for a second longer than I should have.
Then I came back down.
"I was being followed too," I said. "But I took care of him."
"You didn't kill him, did you?" Marissa asked.
I shook my head and walked to the kitchen.
Took out a bottle of Rosé.
"Wine?"
They all agreed.
"Singapore isn't safe anymore," Kora said. "We should move."
We had barely been there two years.
And already…
Running again.
"I don't think that's necessary," I said. "I'm tired of running. If a problem comes… we deal with it."
I thought that was the end of it.
It wasn't.
"Why do you always think you have the final say?" Kora snapped. "I'm suggesting something sensible and you're brushing it off like it's nothing!"
I didn't respond.
I let her talk.
"You're so selfish! You only think about yourself! At least think about us for once!"
Lupita tried to stop her.
I didn't let her.
"No… let her speak."
"At least think about your son."
That did it.
"Mention my son one more time…" I said, my voice low and sharp, "…and I'll swing your world in this motherfucker."
"Can't you see I'm doing this for him?" I snapped. "My son can't live the life I lived! He just got here! He's making friends! He's happy and I'm not taking that away from him!"
My chest tightened.
My voice rose.
"But how can you understand that? You've never had a child. You've never felt a life grow inside you!"
I walked away.
Straight upstairs.
I entered Jordan's room.
Didn't turn on the lights.
The moonlight spilling through the window was enough.
Soft. Cold. Quiet.
I sat there, half-blinded by tears I refused to let fall.
Angry.
Confused.
Hurting.
The darkness matched me perfectly.
Sleep didn't come.
It never does when your mind won't shut up.
So I got up.
Took my blades.
And went to the forest.