I was sitting in my room.
In this huge house, I was completely alone now.
My mother's beautifully scented meals were gone.
My name is Nora. I am twenty-three years old. I live in Blackridge. I'm not studying.
I spent my days sitting in my room, feeling sorry for myself.
Suddenly, someone knocked on the door—hard.
I froze where I was.
No normal person would knock like that at this hour.
The moment I opened the door, tall, broad-shouldered men started walking toward me.
I trembled with fear.
Before I could even ask what was going on, one of them spoke in a harsh voice:
"Your father owes us two million.
Just because he's dead doesn't mean the debt is forgiven.
You will pay what he owes."
My breath caught in my throat.
"If you don't," he continued,
"I'll come and take your life too."
My knees shook.
"B-but I don't have that kind of money," I managed to say.
The man smiled mockingly.
"You'll find it.
You have one month.
If you don't bring the money, I'm not responsible for what happens next."
They shoved me aside and left.
I stood there, frozen.
What was I supposed to do?
My father had never mentioned such a debt.
Even if I sold the house, it would be worth at most one million.
Finding the rest in one month was impossible.
I sank to the floor and started crying.
I don't know how long I cried.
I had pulled my knees to my chest, my head buried in my hands.
I wasn't safe in this house anymore.
I imagined the familiar smells of my mother's cooking coming from the kitchen.
For a moment, I thought everything would go back to the way it was.
But reality hit me like a slap.
I picked up my phone.
There was no one I could ask for that much money.
But maybe my uncle could help.
I called him immediately and told him everything.
This is what he said:
"Nora, I have children too.
I have a family I need to protect, and I can't find that kind of money.
I can't stand up to those dangerous men.
But if you need anything else, you can call me."
There was no one else I could talk to anyway.
Most of my relatives hadn't even come to the funeral.
The people I thought were friends would distance themselves the moment they heard about the debt.
I knew that.
And I didn't have many friends to begin with.
There was only my closest friend, Mila.
But she didn't have money either.
One month.
I had only one month.
I couldn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, that man's voice echoed in my ears:
"If you don't pay, you'll face the consequences."
By morning, my eyes were swollen.
I looked in the mirror.
The person staring back at me didn't feel like me.
I got ready and decided to go to my parents' graves.
Maybe if I talked to them, I would feel a little lighter.
I wore a black cardigan.
The air was cold, but the emptiness inside me was colder.
When I arrived at the cemetery, the morning fog still hadn't lifted.
The ground was wet.
My shoes sank into the mud with every step.
It felt as if even the cemetery didn't want me there.
My mother and father were lying side by side.
Their names were carved into stone, yet they still felt unfamiliar to me.
Were they really here?
I dropped to my knees.
My hands trembled as I touched the gravestones.
"Why did you leave me alone?" I whispered.
"Why did you leave me with this debt, with these terrible people, Dad?"
But I knew…
I would never get answers to those questions.
"Mom," I said softly,
"your absence at home is so obvious…
I already miss you so much.
I've realized that I had no one but you."
I stayed with my parents for a long time before standing up.
I had no idea what to do next.
My head was so full that I needed advice.
I needed to talk to someone, to let everything out.
I knew it.
My closest friend Mila wouldn't leave me alone.
So I decided to go to her.
For now, it was the right choice.
I slowly walked toward the cemetery exit,
but my heart was still with my parents.
At the exit, a black car caught my attention, but I didn't dwell on it.
After all, this was a cemetery—anyone could be there.
I called a taxi to go to Mila's place.
I gave the address, and we drove off.
> When the taxi started moving, I hadn't yet noticed that the black car I'd seen at the cemetery was slowly following us.
When the taxi slowed down, I looked out the window.
Mila's apartment building stood heavily before me, trapped among Blackridge's gray streets.
Even its concrete walls looked tired, as if everyone in this city was missing something.
The metallic sound of the meter competed with my heartbeat.
I handed the driver the fare.
The moment I closed the door, it felt like I had stepped into another world—
quieter, safer, yet just as fragile.
Behind this door was the only person who wouldn't judge me.
I rang the bell.
The door opened almost instantly.
"Nora?" Mila said.
Her eyes widened in surprise, then her expression changed immediately.
"You're not okay," she said. "Come in."
I couldn't say anything.
I stepped inside without even properly taking off my shoes and collapsed in the middle of the living room.
My knees could no longer hold me.
I started crying.
Mila didn't ask anything.
She sat beside me and gently stroked my hair.
She didn't try to stop my tears, as if she knew there was no time limit for them.
After a while, my breathing slowly steadied.
With a trembling voice, I told her everything.
The men at the door.
The two-million debt.
The fact that I had only one month.
With every word that spilled from my mouth, reality felt heavier.
Mila's face turned pale.
"This… this is a joke, right?" she whispered.
I wished it were.
"They threatened to kill me," I said.
"If I can't find the money…"
I couldn't finish the sentence.
It felt like if I said it out loud, it would really happen.
Mila stood up.
She paced the room several times.
Her steps were uneven, her mind as tangled as mine.
"You should go to the police," she finally said.
I shook my head.
"They're not people the police can handle," I said.
"And… if my father really owed them money, that only makes me a bigger target."
A heavy silence filled the room.
Even the ticking of the clock felt unnecessary.
Mila took a deep breath and stood in front of me.
She held my hands. Her palms were warm and firm.
"Listen," she said,
"you're not alone. You don't have money, and I'm not rich either. But we have our minds."
She looked straight into my eyes.
"And you know," she continued,
"we can't earn that kind of money by working for one month. Even if I gave you everything I earn and you worked too… it still wouldn't be enough."
My chest tightened.
It felt like I was staring at an inevitable ending.
"That's why," she said,
"we need a good plan. And you need to leave this city."
I turned to her sharply.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"If we make you disappear, they won't find you," she said calmly but firmly.
"Eventually, they'll stop looking. You just stay out of sight for a while."
"Then where will I stay?" I asked.
Mila answered without hesitation.
"I have a relative in Redhaven," she said.
"I'll talk to them. You can stay there for a while, until things calm down."
Then her voice softened.
"We'll figure out the rest later."
For the first time, the word running away didn't feel terrifying—it felt like salvation.
As if it held a new life for me, a small but real hope.
Mila went to talk to her relative.
I started checking bus schedules on my phone.
If everything went well, I'd buy a ticket for two hours later.
Just a few important belongings… I could handle the rest by working there.
After a while, Mila came back in with a smile.
"Yes," she said,
"they said they'd be happy to take you in. They're waiting for you."
A brief happiness rose inside me.
While even my own relatives had turned their backs on me,
Mila and her family were opening their door.
That realization hurt for a moment.
Maybe this was what hurt the most:
finding the support you never got from your own family in someone else.
We bought the ticket together.
I stood up to go home.
She wanted to come with me, but I refused. We said goodbye at the door.
"Take care of yourself," she said.
"I'll try," was all I could manage.
I got into a taxi and gave my address.
At home, I quickly packed a backpack—
a few clothes, my ID… small items left from my parents, so I wouldn't forget their scent.
I looked around the house one last time.
My childhood, my teenage years, my laughter and my silences were within these walls.
I locked the door and left.
As we headed toward the bus station, I watched Blackridge through the window.
And then I noticed it.
The black car.
The same car I had seen at the cemetery…
It was behind us.
A sudden fear filled me.
I told the driver to turn right. He did. The black car turned too.
It wasn't a coincidence.
I made the driver pull over. I paid and jumped out, then started running.
I ran through side streets until my lungs burned.
I heard footsteps behind me.
Not one—two. They were quiet.
At the end of the street, I saw a man about to get into his car.
"Stop!" I shouted. "Please!"
The man hesitated. When he saw me and the people behind me, he opened the door.
I jumped into the car.
The moment the door closed, he hit the gas.
My heart was still pounding wildly. My hands were shaking.
When I looked back, the black car was gone—but that didn't comfort me.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Only the sound of the engine and my rapid breathing filled the car.
They had been following me since the cemetery.
This was planned.
The man beside me finally broke the silence.
"Are you okay?"