After my husband threw me out of the house after our divorce, I took the old bank card my father had left behind and used it at a branch in the U.S., sending the whole bank lobby into a stir as the staff hurriedly called the manager over, and the words “Look at the name on this account!” revealed a family secret I had never known.

Zelica had never used it. She forgot about it. She was busy with college. Then she met Quacy, busy building her husband’s empire. She always thought the account would have at most a few hundred—the remainder of some allowance that wasn’t used.

But tonight, tonight her ship wasn’t just going to sink. Her ship was already blown to pieces.

She held the card tight. The ten dollars in her wallet weren’t enough for anything. But maybe—maybe—the rest of her father’s money would be enough to buy a bus ticket back to Alabama.

A small hope, as thin as a thread, began to light up in her tight chest.

Zelica didn’t sleep all night. She took shelter under the awning of a closed shop, hugging her duffel bag tight, waiting for morning to come. She was dirty, hungry, and scared. But the faded card felt warm in her hand.