Where's Molly(3)

I grab Dad’s favorite beer, diapers and formula for Layla, and a few packs of ramen for the next couple days.

Dropping the items on the counter, I pull out my cash while Mario turns to get a pack of cigarettes from behind him. Dad’s favorite.

“How are you tonight, sweetheart?” he asks me, clicking the keyboard to ring everything up.

I sigh. “Same ol’, same ol’.”

“Dad still giving you trouble?”

I give him a dry glance. “Always. I’ll be spending my birthday at the diner tomorrow. I was supposed to have the day off, but I didn’t get good tips today and, well—” I wiggle the measly bundle of cash. “—it’s all gone now anyway.”

Mario shoots me an unimpressed look. “What’s stopping you from taking Layla from them?”

Shame prevents me from meeting his eyes .

This isn’t the first time he’s asked, but every excuse I’ve come up with falls flat. Because the truth is condemning, and as much as I like Mario, what if I can’t trust him?

When I refocus on him, my heart squeezes. His stare is soft, and he radiates genuine concern. I feel my resolve cracking.

“Please, Mol, you can tell me anything.”

I sigh, and the last of my reservations crumble at his feet.

“My parents have proof of me buying drugs—their drugs—but it doesn’t matter. It looks bad. They know I want her, and they’ve threatened to show it to the court if I try to take custody. Dad has pictures and videos I didn’t even know he was taking, but he showed me them before he hid them. And if I just take her… I’ll be kidnapping her. I’m legally an adult, but the moment I found out my mother was pregnant, I got comfortable in my prison. I can’t leave her, Mario.”

My friend shakes his head, utter disgust emitting from his brown eyes. “They’re sick. Sick, sick people. And they’re blackmailing you! Maybe a lawyer—”

“Lawyers cost money, Mario. Money that I don’t have. All of it goes to them, and I…” My words fail me, helplessness taking root. Exhaling harshly, I finish with the only words that matter, “I’m trapped.”

Tears burn the backs of my eyes as Mario stares at me with fury. Fury for me, I know. But his anger won’t change my situation.

I don’t even know how to.

“You don’t have any other family?” he questions, the hope hanging on to his words brittle.

Frowning, I shake my head. As far as I know, both of my parents are only children, and their parents are either dead or estranged .

I have no one but Layla.

“I can ask my wife and see about you staying with us—”

I’m shaking my head before he can finish. “My parents won’t let me take Layla, and I can’t leave her alone.”

“Molly, please let me help you,” Mario begs. “We can figure something out.”

“I need time,” I snap, and he deflates. Guilt rises, and it only cements my helplessness. “Just… I’ll figure it out eventually, okay? She’s so young right now, so I just need to make sure I go about it the right way.”

He nods, relenting, though his stiff movements betray his true feelings. But just like me, he’s helpless.

Even if I take my parents down, they’ll be sure to bring me down with them.

“Then at least let me pay for Layla’s stuff, yeah? I’ll help you get anything she needs in the meantime. But don’t think I’m not going to find you a way out of this, little girl,” he tells me sternly. “I won’t ever stand idly by while you suffer.”

Tears well in my eyes, and I’m too overwhelmed with gratitude to thank him properly.

Eventually, I choke out, “Thank you. Even if I have no other family, at least I have you.”

His shoulders slump, though the conviction in his tone is strong. “You do, sweetheart. For anything.”

I smile softly, even if it’s hard to feel. But I am eternally grateful for him, especially since he’s the only person who’s ever been kind to me.

The bell chimes, and I glance at the newcomers walking in. Quickly, I do a double take, a frown marring my face .

It’s my dad, along with a man I don’t recognize. I’d have thought they were two strangers who walked in at the same time if it wasn’t for them being in the midst of a hushed conversation, their words halting when they finally catch sight of me.

My heart drops.

“What are you doing here? I’m getting your stuff…” I ask, trailing off with nervousness when I realize the other man is staring at me with an expression I can’t quite describe. It’s a look I don’t want to decipher, with how it immediately has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

He's short and stocky, with trimmed hair and a square, pronounced jawline. His pale skin is covered in shitty tattoos, and there’s a cold gleam in his brown eyes.

Dad strides toward me, gesturing for me to move aside. “I’ll take that off your hands. You’re too young to be buying alcohol anyhow. Why don’t you go with my friend here and wait for me till I’m done?” he orders gruffly.

My mouth drops, bewildered and increasingly suspicious.

My dad has never come to take anything ‘off my hands’. Which means there’s a reason he’s here, and that terrifying man has something to do with it.