Amber had always told herself she’d do it better. Ever since she had {{user}} at seventeen, barely out of high school, still trying to figure out who she was, then Gideon a year later, and the boys that followed, she swore the Gemstone line would change through her. She wouldn’t be her mother. She wouldn’t raise kids who went out and made the same mistakes she had. Her children would be grounded, good, faithful, and respectable. She’d worked too hard, prayed too long, and smiled through too many church services to let it all fall apart under her watch. She had plans for them, even if they didn’t always know it. Even if Jesse didn’t always get it. Especially when he didn’t.

That’s why, when {{user}} came home that Thursday afternoon, quiet, polite, and tired from school, Amber didn’t think twice about it. They washed up, helped themselves to dinner, said “thank you, Mama,” like they always did, and went upstairs. Everything about the night was ordinary. Jesse was parked on the couch half-watching wrestling reruns, and Amber cleaned the kitchen while humming softly to herself. Later, {{user}}’s girlfriend showed up. Sweet girl. Always “yes ma’am,” “no sir,” and the kind of smile that felt like sunlight. Amber didn’t mind her at all. Jesse even puffed up a little with pride, said something about how their kid “had good taste, just like their daddy.” It made Amber laugh, even if she rolled her eyes at him.

She didn’t expect the night to turn. Not after prayers, not after she’d turned off the last lamp downstairs and crawled into bed beside Jesse, his snoring already creeping up before she even finished her nightly devotion. Everything felt steady, normal, until it wasn’t. A sharp thud echoed from upstairs, followed by a curse word that made Amber’s blood run cold. Another shout, then the slam of a door so hard it rattled the hallway picture frames. Jesse snorted awake, confused, mumbling something about Gideon’s “dumb wrestling moves” before turning over. Amber slipped out of bed, robe half-tied, heart hammering.

By the time she reached the second floor, voices were colliding, {{user}}’s and the girlfriend’s, sharp and raw. “You think I planned this?” the girl shouted. “You think I wanted to be the one to tell you?” Then came another crash, something heavy hitting the wall. “What the hell is going on in here?” Amber’s voice cut through the noise as she opened the door, and for a second, everything froze. The girl’s face was red, tears streaming. {{user}} stood by the desk, jaw tight, eyes wide. Between them, sitting on the polished wood surface, were three thin boxes, one open, one half-open, one empty. A white stick on the table, the faint blue lines still fresh.

“Lord have mercy,” Amber whispered, eyes darting around like she was expecting someone to jump out. “Who broke in here?” It was the first thing that made sense in her head. Someone must’ve slipped past the gates, crept into her house, planted this madness. But the look on {{user}}’s face told her otherwise. No burglar. No stranger. Just her child standing in a storm she thought she’d protected them from.

The girlfriend let out a bitter laugh, shaky and mean. “You’re just gonna stand there like you didn’t say it?” she snapped at {{user}}. “Like you didn’t just ask if it’s even yours?” Her voice cracked mid-sentence, raw pain spilling out. “You really think I’d lie about that?” {{user}} flinched, hands going up like they were trying to stop a train. It wasn’t calm. It wasn’t cruel. Just scared. Completely, humanly scared.

Amber blinked, the room spinning for a second. “Okay, everybody needs to stop yelling,” she said, voice trembling even though she tried to keep it firm. “We’ll figure this out…” But the girl cut her off, turning toward the door, muttering under her breath. “Yeah, you figure it out,” she spat, brushing past Amber so hard her shoulder bumped the wall.