Keeping It Fluid -52

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The kitchen was quiet. No sizzling sounds from the stove, no humming from Mom, no radio playing in the background. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the wall clock that suddenly felt way too loud.

I sat at the table, staring down at a slice of toast I hadn't touched. The jelly was starting to melt into the bread, bleeding purple across the plate like bruises.

Mom was across from me, her hands wrapped around a mug she hadn't taken a sip from. Dad stood near the sink, arms crossed tight over his chest, the muscles in his jaw twitching every now and then like he was chewing over a thought he didn't want to swallow.

Lily and Sam were still upstairs. Uncle David was called to help with the situation, and wasn't here yet. And somehow, that made this conversation feel even heavier. Like we had to say it before anyone else came in and made it harder.

Mom broke the silence first. "We've been talking," she said, voice gentle but serious. "Last night... the brick... the note..." She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to.

Dad stepped forward, pulling out the chair next to me and sitting down. "We don't feel safe here anymore."

My heart dropped.

"Not just for us," he added quickly, "but for you, Em. For the kids. This house, this neighborhood—someone knows where we live. And they're not afraid to act."

I swallowed, hard. "So what are you saying?"

Mom met my eyes. "We think maybe... it's time we moved."

"Move?" I cried, my voice cracking in the middle. "What about Jasmine and Mia? What about the court case?"

I pushed my chair back, the legs screeching against the floor like the sound could somehow express the way my insides were twisting. The toast on my plate felt a million miles away. So did everything else.

Mom sighed, her eyes soft but tired. "We're not saying we're packing boxes tomorrow. But we have to be honest with ourselves. Someone threw a brick through our window, Emily. That's not just a threat anymore—that's danger, in our home."

I shook my head, blinking back tears. "But I just got my life back. I finally have friends. A real school. A family. And now... what? We're supposed to just disappear again?"

Dad reached for my hand, but I pulled it away before he could touch me. I wasn't ready for comfort. I wasn't ready for any of this.

"I already lost everything once," I said, voice low. "I'm not doing it again."

He nodded slowly, like he understood. "We don't want that either. But the truth is, the court case complicates everything. We can't legally move out of county until the trial's over. Which means... we're stuck. At least for now."

That didn't help. If anything, it made the pressure in my chest worse. So we might move... but we can't yet? All I could see was a countdown clock ticking toward goodbye, and I didn't even know how many seconds were left.

Before anyone could say anything else, the front door opened with a click.

Uncle David's voice echoed into the kitchen. "Morning. Sorry I'm late—traffic's a nightmare out by the edge of town."

He stepped into the room like a gust of outside air, eyes alert, suit jacket slung over one shoulder. His badge peeked out from his waistband, along with something that looked like a USB drive.

"Got something you'll want to see," he said, dropping the drive on the table. "Pulled from a security cam three houses down. Might give us a lead."

I looked at him, wanting to feel relief.

But all I felt was a storm building in my chest.

Uncle David pulled out his phone and tapped a few times. "The footage isn't the best—cheap camera, poor lighting—but it's something."

He turned the screen so we could all see. The video was grainy and jittery, the kind of footage you'd expect from a doorbell cam bought on clearance five years ago. But as the timestamp rolled past 11:42 p.m., a figure emerged near the corner of the screen.

Shadowy. Slouched. Quick.

I leaned in. My heart was already thudding before I even processed what I was looking at.

The person—a male, maybe?—walked fast, head down, hoodie pulled up tight. He stayed just barely in frame as he moved toward our house. Then, a few seconds later, he turned and ran away, vanishing into the dark.

Uncle David paused it.

"Same time the brick came through your window," he said. "We checked the timestamps. This is likely our guy."

I stared at the screen. "You can't tell who it is."

"No," he agreed. "But we're running enhancement on it. We'll also compare the build and gait to other suspects—see if anything stands out."

Dad rubbed a hand down his face. "So someone just walked up in the middle of the night, threw a brick at our house, and ran off like it was nothing."

"Not nothing," Uncle David said, voice harder now. "This was a message. But they were sloppy. That's good for us."

"Sloppy?" I asked.

He nodded. "They didn't cover their approach well. Didn't check for cameras. Didn't even try to hide the note. That means they're either impulsive... or arrogant."

I stared at the frozen figure on the phone. My stomach twisted. I didn't know what was worse—someone who didn't care if they got caught... or someone who thought they wouldn't be.

I paced from the living room to the kitchen and back again, arms crossed tight across my chest like I could hold everything in if I just squeezed hard enough.

We might move.

The words wouldn't stop echoing in my head.

I hated it. I hated the uncertainty. I hated the thought of saying goodbye to Jasmine and Mia. I hated that some faceless creep showed up in the middle of the night, threw a brick through our window, and suddenly everything was up for grabs—my house, my life, my safety.

And more than anything... I hated that I didn't know who it was.

My feet dragged me back toward the couch, but I didn't sit down. I stared out the taped-over window, the plastic still fluttering gently every time the air kicked on, like it was breathing. Like the house itself was wounded and trying to heal.

I turned away before it could swallow me whole.

Then—an idea.

It hit me like a flicker of light in a very dark room.

We didn't have to move across the state. Or to another county. Or leave everything behind. What if we moved somewhere nearby? Close enough that I could still see Jasmine and Mia... but safer. Better protected.

I darted over to the computer desk and flipped the screen on. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second before I started typing.

**Gated communities near Edina.**
**Safe neighborhoods with private security.**
**Homes for rent near middle schools with low crime.**

I clicked through links, barely blinking. Most of the places looked fancy—too fancy. Big brick houses with flowerbeds and fountains and actual gatehouses at the entrances. But some... some weren't that far from our neighborhood. Some were close enough that I could still ride my bike to school. Some were right off the bus line.

And one of them?

It had a guard shack and 24-hour patrols. Cameras at every corner. It looked older, but well-kept.

It wasn't perfect. But it was safe. And it was still here.

I nearly tripped over the rug on my way to the kitchen.

"Mom! Dad!" I called, practically out of breath even though I'd only crossed the house. "I found something. I think... I think I found where we could move."

They both looked up from the table. Mom was still nursing the same mug of tea, and Dad had a notepad out with scribbled lists that looked suspiciously like moving prep already.

I spun the monitor around so they could see the screen. "It's still in Edina. Just a few miles over. It's a private community—no big gates or walls or anything, but there's actual security. Patrols, cameras, background checks for residents. It's older, not super flashy, but it's safe. Like... really safe."

Mom leaned forward, squinting at the listing. "Honey, that's—" She clicked on the little tab that showed the monthly cost. Her eyebrows lifted. "That's a bit steep."

My heart dropped a little. "But it's still nearby. I wouldn't have to leave Jasmine or Mia or school or anything. It's just... safer."

She didn't say no. But she didn't say yes, either.

Dad stood and came over to look, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. He scanned the page, then gave a quiet whistle. "Pricey, yeah," he said. "But not impossible."

He looked at Mom. "We can swing it. I've been putting away extra from my freelance contracts, and if I get that promotion next month like they promised, we'll be in even better shape."

Mom hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," Dad said. "We said we'd keep our kids safe, right? That doesn't come with a price limit."

I looked between them, my throat tightening.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Mom reached over and brushed a hand against my cheek. "Let's set up a tour. See if it feels right in person."

And for the first time since the brick shattered our window, I felt something shift in my chest.

Hope.

Before anyone could say another word, Sam and Lily came barreling into the kitchen like a pair of caffeinated raccoons, both shouting over each other at full volume.

"HE LICKED MY POPSICLE!" Lily screeched, pointing an accusing finger at Sam like she was in a courtroom drama.

"I DID NOT!" Sam shouted back, holding his hands up like he was about to be arrested. "I was checking the flavor!"

"WITH YOUR TONGUE?!" Lily yelled.

I blinked. "Are we seriously doing this right now?"

"It was the last blue one!" Lily huffed, stomping her foot. "He knew I wanted the blue one!"

"It didn't have a name on it!" Sam argued. "And technically, I only tasted it. That's not a full claim of ownership."

"You slobbered all over it, you goblin!"

"You're just mad 'cause you left it on the counter for more than two minutes!"

Mom slowly put down her mug, staring at them both like her soul had briefly left her body.

"I swear," she muttered, "if I hear the word 'popsicle' one more time today, I'm moving by myself."

Dad chuckled under his breath and muttered, "Should've bought two boxes."

Meanwhile, Lily grabbed a paper towel and dramatically wiped her popsicle while giving Sam a glare that could melt glaciers.

"I'm still eating it," she muttered, "but I'm not happy about it."

"Then my plan worked," Sam said smugly.

Lily immediately kicked him in the shin and ran out of the room.

"That was uncalled for!" Dad barked, standing up straighter like he'd just turned into Full Dad Mode. "You get back in here and apologize to your brother, young lady!"

From somewhere down the hall, Lily yelled, "I regret nothing!"

Dad ran a hand down his face and turned to Sam, who was now rubbing his shin dramatically like he'd just survived a bear trap. "You okay, buddy?"

"She's got bony feet," Sam muttered, flopping onto a kitchen chair like a war veteran recounting the trauma. "That wasn't just a kick. That was vengeance."

I couldn't help it. A tiny laugh slipped out, then another.

Mom shook her head and chuckled, grabbing a paper towel to clean the puddle Lily had left behind. "You two better figure out a popsicle peace treaty before summer ends or I'm instituting rationing."

"I want it in writing," Sam grumbled.

"I want a lawyer," came Lily's voice again, farther away now.

"Can my lawyer be the cat?" Sam called back.

"No!" Lily shouted.

"Yes!" Sam shouted louder.

Dad looked over at Emily with a raised eyebrow. "Still sure you want to live in the same city as these people?"

I smiled softly. "Yeah, even if they're loud, they're still home."

Mom leaned closer to the screen, scrolling down past the pictures of the neighborhood entrance and the smiling real estate lady with perfect hair.

"Hey," she said, tapping the mouse, "it looks like they have an opening for a tour tomorrow afternoon."

My heart skipped. "Really?"

She nodded. "One o'clock. Says it's a guided tour through a couple model homes and the neighborhood itself."

Dad was already pulling his phone from his pocket. "Send me the link—I'll schedule it now before someone else snags it."

As he tapped away, I peeked over Mom's shoulder at the listing again. The pictures made it look cozy. Not too fancy, but nice. Clean. Lived-in. There were sidewalks and trees and even a community park with a little pond. The kind of place where you'd feel safe walking home at night. The kind of place where bricks didn't fly through windows.

"Do you think they'll actually accept us?" I asked quietly.

Mom looked over at me and placed a hand on mine. "I don't think they'd have an open tour if they weren't looking for families."

Dad grinned as he hit the final confirmation button. "All set. One o'clock tomorrow. We'll take a look and see how it feels."

And for once, the idea of moving didn't make my stomach twist in knots.

It almost felt like... maybe it wasn't the end of everything.

Maybe it was just the start of something safer.

Something better.

At that moment, the front door creaked open again.

Uncle David stepped back inside, brushing off his jacket like he'd just come in from a windstorm. Behind him, one of the FBI agents followed quietly, already checking something on a tablet.

And just like that... all the excitement drained out of me.

I had completely forgotten they were even here.

One second I was dreaming about a new neighborhood and backyard cookouts, and the next I was staring at a government-issued badge and remembering that someone had literally tried to hurt us last night.

Uncle David raised an eyebrow at the sudden shift in the room. "Did I miss something?"

Dad stood up and gestured to the computer screen. "We booked a tour for tomorrow. Private community, extra security. Still in Edina."

Uncle David glanced at the listing, then nodded approvingly. "Smart move. Might be a good idea to check if they've got any surveillance systems built in. Motion sensors, plate scanners, that sort of thing."

"Oh," Mom said, her eyes widening, "I didn't even think to ask about that."

He waved it off. "I'll come with you. Walk the grounds, check for weak spots. If we're going to move her, we're going to do it right."

Her.
Me.

I suddenly felt very small.

The agent near the door cleared her throat. "We'll have a preliminary report for you by tomorrow morning. No positive ID on the figure in the footage yet, but we're narrowing possibilities. Someone local, someone who knew your schedule, someone who—"

"—wanted to scare us," I cut in. "And they did."

Uncle David looked over at me, not with pity—never with pity—but with a kind of steady calm that made me feel like I could breathe again.

"Then let's make sure they don't get to do it twice," he said.