Medical Center. Emergency Room.
"So, can I see my Kalisha now?" Mr. Freeman asked in a low, steady voice.
"Of course," Adam replied with a nod. He gestured toward an African-American girl leaning against the wall, eyes closed, lost in her music. "But your older daughter could use some of your attention too."
A flicker of panic crossed Mr. Freeman's face.
"This way, please," Adam said with a quiet sigh, motioning for him to follow.
Mr. Freeman trailed behind Adam into the hospital room, where he shared a sweet moment with his younger daughter, Kalisha. You could tell he really adored her.
"Doc, when can Kalisha come home?" Mr. Freeman asked, stepping up beside Adam.
"A few hours of observation should do it," Adam answered. "But before she's discharged, can you promise me she won't get near cocaine again? If I'm reading this right, your older daughter's hooked on the stuff, right? And she's the one bringing it home."
"Doc, you got kids?" Mr. Freeman didn't deny it. After a long pause, he just asked.
Adam's mouth twitched. "Nope," he said, shaking his head.
"Then you wouldn't get what it's like to be a parent," Mr. Freeman said, glancing toward his older daughter with a sad look. "My wife passed away last year. Around that time, my oldest, Sandora, was fighting with her nonstop—classic teenage rebellion stuff. After my wife died, I didn't know how to talk to Sandora anymore. But I could tell… sometimes, it's like she doesn't even want to live."
"I can recommend a good therapist," Adam offered with another sigh. "Sandora needs help, but this kind of thing can't keep spreading. It almost took Kalisha out today."
"Thanks, Doc," Mr. Freeman said, forcing a weak smile.
That smile was dripping with helplessness, and Adam got it.
Addiction's a beast—once it grabs hold, it's usually a one-way ticket to ruin. A therapist alone isn't gonna cut it. The rational move would be sending Sandora to a rehab facility for forced detox. But with someone like her, who's already half-checked out of life, how could Mr. Freeman, as a dad, risk that? Drop her off in the morning, and she might not make it to night—she could end herself. That'd feel like he'd killed his own daughter.
And even rehab's no guarantee. Plenty of dealers run their game right inside those places. On one hand, you've got the agony of withdrawal; on the other, drugs within arm's reach. Guess what most pick? Even the legit centers, the ones dealers can't touch—if she got clean and walked out, the odds of relapse would still be sky-high.
It's a no-win mess.
That's why the big shots—like that fried chicken guy—don't let their crews touch the stuff. And those creeps who trap women into selling their bodies? Step one's always getting them hooked. Addicts have no limits. When the craving hits, they'll do anything for a fix—humiliate them, beat them, whatever. They'll keep coming back, no shame, no quit. Compared to that, even Wei Xiaobao's magic pills are small fry.
If Mr. Freeman can't toughen up, he's not just losing Sandora—Kalisha's probably next. He's just a regular middle-class guy; he doesn't have the cash to bankroll Sandora's habit forever. And when the money dries up? Adam had no doubt Sandora, in a desperate haze, might even sell Kalisha out to score.
He knew it. But there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
After a quiet moment of shared gloom with Mr. Freeman, Adam turned and walked off.
This was the first case like this he'd seen. But it sure as hell wouldn't be the last.
patreon:belamy20
"Adam!"
"Hey, Amy! Back to spruce up Leonard's office again?" Adam grinned as he bumped into a stylish woman.
"Yup!" Amy Green—Leonard's second daughter, Rachel's younger sister—gave Adam a warm hug. "I'm an interior designer, you know," she said proudly.
"Uh-huh," Adam chuckled, playing along. "Leonard's always raving about the office vibes you whip up."
Emmm. Truth is, Leonard didn't have much choice. Keeping her busy was better than letting her stir up trouble. That was his big hope for his second kid.
Interior designer? Yeah, self-appointed. She had a knack for hype, though—total marketing genius vibes. If she brushed up against something, she'd spin it into gold. "Interior designer" sure beat "jobless wanderer," right?
"You didn't go to Rachel's baby shower tonight?" Amy asked with a smile.
"What, are there guys there?" Adam shot back, deadpan.
Rachel was a week from popping, and tonight's party—thrown by Monica and Phoebe—was a ladies' thing. Just her gal pals showering the soon-to-be-born Emma with gifts, mostly stuff a new mom needs. Tradition says no dudes allowed.
"Oh, there's one," Amy said. "Some guy—I thought he was Rachel's new boyfriend at first. I even complimented him, said he was way cuter than her old goofy ex. But then he kept insisting he was the ex! Like, dude, I'd know if it was the same person, right? So I explained I meant this weird guy from high school who'd been crushing on Rachel since, like, ninth grade. He still looked confused, like I was talking about him. So I had to get specific—y'know, Rachel's chubby sidekick's brother with that ridiculous Afro? And then he got mad! I don't even get why! I was just worried Emma might inherit Rachel's big nose. But now, seeing both her parents are like this, I just feel bad for her. If it were me, I wouldn't even wanna be born…"
"Ahem!" Adam coughed, cutting her off as she went too far. "The only guy at that party? That's the high school weirdo who's been into Rachel forever. Also her ex. Also Emma's dad."
"Who's Emma?" Amy asked, dead serious.
"Rachel's baby—due any day now. They're naming her Emma," Adam clarified. "Not Emily."
"Oh, whatever," Amy said, waving it off. "But you know how awful Rachel is? I'm swamped, right? Still made time to hit her party and bring a gift I hand-picked. And what do I get back?"
"What?" Adam asked politely.
"Humiliation!" Amy's face flared with anger. "I'm her sister—her real sister! She works at Ralph Lauren, has a discount card—30% off! But she won't let me use it. Says I've gotta pay full price. Can you believe her?"
"Rachel's still pregnant, y'know," Adam said, trying to calm her. "Maybe butter her up a bit, make her feel the family love. She'd probably let you borrow it then."
"Hmph!" Amy huffed. "30% off? I don't even care!"
"It's 50% now," Adam corrected. "Rachel got bumped up to management…"
"That bitch!" Amy exploded.
50% off at a luxury spot like that? That's serious cash saved. Not that Amy cared about the money—her dad's a fancy doctor, plenty to burn (RIP Leonard's wallet for three seconds). What she wanted was the bragging rights with her girlfriends, flashing that discount. And Rachel, who had it, wouldn't share!
"With that attitude, you're not borrowing squat," Adam pointed out.
"Rachel, my dearest big sis…" Amy smirked, holding up a finger to pause Adam. She fished her phone out of her LV bag and dialed Rachel, laying on the sweetest, most syrupy tone to butter her up.
Oh yeah. She was all in now.
True vibes!