"They wanted you to drop everything. Stop going after him."
"What did you tell them?"
"I said you'd listen to me."
Mom laughed out loud.
"That's right," she said. "I always listen to you."
The scooter's battery died.
We got off and pushed it the rest of the way.
"Mom, we have nowhere to go."
She wiped the sweat from her forehead.
"Yes we do. Don't worry."
She led me into the old part of the city. Deep in a narrow alley, there was a small apartment.
"Your grandpa left this place," she said, pulling out a key. "Nobody knows about it."
Inside, it was clean. A bed and a table—that was it.
"It'll do." She brushed away a thin layer of dust.
The next morning was Saturday.
Mom was up early. She came back with soy milk and fried dough sticks.
"Eat up," she said. "They're getting cold."
Around noon, someone knocked.
It was Dad.
He looked around the apartment, taking it in.
"Clever hiding spot."
Mom blocked the doorway.
"Say what you came to say."
Dad held out an envelope.
"Sign it. Divorce papers."
Mom didn't take it.
"What are the terms?"
"The house is mine." Dad lit a cigarette. "You can have the girl."
Mom laughed.
"In your dreams."
His expression darkened.
"Don't push your luck."
Mom's hand came up fast.