Chapter 4 - The Shattered GlassThe new shoes gave Alara a sense of dignity she hadn't felt in years. She knew without a doubt who had left them in her locker, yet Julian never mentioned the gift. He continued to arrive at Table Seven every night at eight, ordering his usual meal, reading his documents, and leaving a generous, quiet tip.
A week later, the peaceful atmosphere was shattered by the arrival of an unwanted shadow from Alara’s past.
It was nearly seven-thirty when the heavy glass doors of the diner swung open, letting in a draft of freezing rain. A man in a stained canvas jacket stepped inside, his posture slouching, his eyes bloodshot and erratic.
It was Marcus—Alara’s ex-fiancé and Mia’s biological father, a man who had abandoned them three years ago after burning through their savings to fund his gambling debts.
Alara froze behind the counter, her hands locking onto the edge of the stainless steel sink.
“Alara,” Marcus slurred, walking toward the counter with an unsteadiness that betrayed his intoxication. “I know you’re in there. Don't play deaf with me.”
Mia, who was sitting in her usual booth near the back, shrank down into the corner, clutching her blue crayon tightly.
“Marcus, leave,” Alara said, her voice dripping with ice despite the fear racing through her veins. “You have no right to be here. The diner is private property.”
“I have a right to see my daughter!” Marcus yelled, slamming his hand onto the counter. “You think you can hide from me forever? I heard you’re working double shifts now. You must have some extra cash saved up. I need five hundred dollars, Alara. Just five hundred, and I’m gone.”
“I don't have five hundred dollars for you, Marcus,” Alara replied, standing her ground despite her trembling knees. “Every cent I earn goes toward raising your daughter alone.”
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Marcus’s face twisted into an ugly, aggressive scowl. He reached across the counter, grabbing Alara firmly by the wrist. “Don't lie to me, woman!”
Before Marcus could pull her closer, a heavy, iron-like grip locked onto his wrist, squeezing until the bones groaned under the pressure.
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