Ch. 2 | There Goes the Neighborhood

Sam pulled her silver Toyota Corolla into a space carved neatly into the edge of the gridded development. Everything in Lago Tierra was just so — symmetrical, manicured, quiet. The kind of place where houses had HOA-approved trim colors and you could be fined for leaving your trash can out too long. She stared at her parents’ stucco-clad box, complete with faux-Tuscan touches and hedges trimmed within an inch of their life.

This wasn’t where she wanted to be.

For seven years, Sam had stayed away on purpose, and for seven years, that distance gave her clarity. But life, as it turns out, doesn’t care about clarity. It cares about rent. About the rising cost of dog food and canceled freelance contracts and having nowhere else to go. She hadn’t been summoned here — she asked. Beggars can’t be choosers. And Sam, at this point, was definitely a beggar.

They told people they moved to Las Vegas for the weather. The sun, the dry air, the promise of golf. But Sam knew better. You don’t pack up from California just for climate — you do it when the whispers grow teeth. Her father’s charm had always been his best defense, but not even that could smother a paper trail. His dalliances had followed him from operating rooms to administrative offices — many of them happening at work, often with women in subordinate roles. Some called it infidelity. Others called it misconduct. Sam called it exactly what it was: abuse of power.

What Joseph lacked in discretion, he made up for in charisma. Handshakes, bright smiles, names always remembered. To the world, he was magnetic. To Sam, he was exhausting. And she had the gall to see him clearly — something he never forgave.

“Sweetheart!!” her mother shrieked from the front door.

Sam winced. That voice still scraped her nerves raw. Sandra Ellison, once a legal lioness, now lived buried beneath years of humiliation and Chardonnay. She used to wear ambition like armor. Now, she wore curated sadness and a rotation of hobbies no one asked about.

“Are you hungry?” Sandra asked. “We’ve got leftover finger foods. I can make you a roast beef sandwich.”

Sam nodded, suppressing a sigh. Her mother meant well — smothered in guilt and loneliness, maybe — but well. There was a time when Sandra Ellison could annihilate a courtroom. These days, she couldn’t even finish a sentence without checking if her husband was listening.

“Honey, come see Sam,” Sandra called.

Joseph passed through the foyer without stopping. “Samantha, hello,” he said, as if greeting a mildly interesting acquaintance at a fundraiser.

“Joseph,” she replied, letting the name fall like a stone in her mouth.

This was the rhythm of their non-relationship: formal, cold, transactional. She’d tried once. He hadn’t.

“Mom, I’m really tired. It’d be great to lie down.”

“Oh! Of course,” Sandra said, already scratching behind Auggie’s ears. “The casita’s made up. I put snacks in the mini fridge. Your brother and sister will be here for dinner — they’ll want to see you.”

Fantastic, Sam thought. Exactly seven years since she last sat through one of these family dinners. Coincidence? Hardly.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the keys and offering her mom a quick hug. “I’ll see how I feel.”

She turned toward the guest house, Auggie trotting along at her side, tail wagging like he’d just won the jackpot.

The casita was small but curated — about 500 square feet, decorated like an Instagram model’s vacation rental. Cozy textures. Neutral palette. An espresso machine on the counter.

Of course there was an espresso machine.

She exhaled, almost laughing. The coffee was a guilt offering — her mother’s way of atoning for the years of absence, betrayal, and silence. In the Old Testament, they brought livestock. In Sandra Ellison’s house, it was high-end appliances and cold cuts.

She dropped onto the bed, and Auggie immediately curled beside her.

“This isn’t where I wanted to be,” she murmured, rubbing the fur between his ears. “We’re not in Kansas anymore. We’re in HOA hell. But at least there’s espresso in prison.”

Auggie sighed, his weight warm against her leg.

She was grateful. She was resentful. She was tired.

The last time she lived with these people, she left feeling like a ghost. And yet here she was, heart still beating, barely — but still.

One day at a time, she thought, drifting toward sleep.

And prayed to God she meant it.