Chapter 4 What We Carry

What We Carry

Setting:

Harper's Brooklyn apartment → An abandoned community art center in the Bronx → Flashback to the Lane home, seven years ago

Scene 1 – Harper's Apartment, Morning

Harper is seated on her couch, cradling a cup of lukewarm tea, wrapped in a worn hoodie that belonged to her late brother. A stack of unopened letters and old newspaper clippings lie beside her. Her eyes linger on one article-

"Young Artist's Suicide Sparks Questions About Foster Care, Mental Health."

Ava (on speakerphone):

"Press wants you at the Fordham street mural dedication. Dominic's office called again."

Harper (quietly):

"Not today."

Ava:

"You okay?"

Harper:

"No. But I will be. I just need to go... back."

Scene 2 – The Old Community Art Center, Bronx

Dust coats the floor like snowfall. Broken easels lean against cracked walls. Harper walks through the ruined remains of the place that once saved her. She kneels beside a mural-a phoenix rising from paint-splattered flames. Her signature is at the base, dated seven years ago.

Cue memory shift-

Scene 3 – Flashback: Lane Family Apartment, Seven Years Earlier

Teen Harper, 21, sits on the edge of her twin bed. Her brother, Michael Lane, paces the room with anxious energy. He's wiry, brilliant, and too old for his years. Their foster mother's voice yells from the other room. Bruised silence fills the air.

Michael:

"I got us in. The city youth housing program. It's two bedrooms. We're out, Harp. We're finally out."

Harper (tearfully):

"You said that last time."

Michael:

"I mean it. You're gonna paint murals that touch hearts. I'll teach math to bored kids in the Bronx. We'll rebuild something good from all this broken."

Harper:

"You promise?"

Michael (smiling):

"On my life."

Later that night, Michael overdoses. Whether intentional or accidental remains unclear. Harper finds him.

Scene 4 – Present Day, Art Center

Harper runs her fingers along the peeling paint of the mural. A single tear escapes.

Harper (whispers):

"I'm still here, Mikey. But it's harder now. The people with power-they buy kindness like it's currency."

A voice echoes behind her.

Sienna (stepping forward):

"I used to come here too, you know."

Harper turns, startled. Sienna stands at the edge of the room in designer boots completely unsuited for the dust, but her eyes are softer than before.

Harper:

"Let me guess. Another moment of strategic outreach?"

Sienna:

"No. Just a girl who lost her brother too. And who knows what it's like to wonder if your grief makes you too loud for polite company."

They sit in silence for a long time.

Sienna:

"Julian will come for you. He'll make it subtle. But real. And permanent."

Harper:

"I'm not afraid of him."

Sienna (sad smile):

"You should be. But more than that-you should be ready."

Harper:

"I'm not here to win. I'm here to make sure what Michael died for... matters."

Sienna nods slowly.

Sienna:

"Then let me help. From the shadows, if you prefer."

Scene 5 – Harper's Apartment, Night

Harper pins a photo of her and Michael to a corkboard labeled "Lane Foundation: Why We Fight." She takes out a pen and writes a single sentence below it.

"Let their voices rise where ours were silenced."

Her phone buzzes again. This time, it's from an unknown number.

Julian Rhodes: You're awakening the city, Miss Lane. But remember-spotlights burn.

Harper doesn't reply. She deletes the message-and moves on.

The hall buzzed with soft chatter and the low hum of jazz. Harper stood at the back of the stage, arms folded loosely, watching the final guest arrive. She wore a tailored navy jumpsuit-polished, commanding, but nothing flashy. Let them watch her. Let them guess if she was still "that girl who disappeared."

The lights dimmed. A moderator took the mic.

Harper's heart steadied.

Moderator:

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Women in Power: The New Era of Philanthropy and Art. We're honored to host Harper Lane and the Lane Foundation."

A polite round of applause followed-tepid, but respectful. Harper stepped forward.

Harper (into mic):

"Thank you for being here. Ten years ago, I was sitting in the back row of rooms like this one. I wasn't invited. I was barely tolerated. But I was watching. And I knew I'd return with something worth listening to."

That got a stir. Not applause-something quieter. Interest.

She continued, drawing on raw conviction.

And just for a second-she saw him.

Dominic Cain. Standing at the back, arms crossed, a shadow behind the light. He didn't smile. He didn't blink. He just watched her.

Later, in the reception hall...

Ava (whispering):

"You saw him, right? Dominic Cain, just... lurking?"

Harper (sipping wine):

"I saw him. He stayed the whole time. Didn't approach me once."

Ava:

"Reverse psychology?"

Harper:

"Strategic patience. He's not chasing me-he's inviting me to move closer."

Ava:

"That's... deeply unsettling."

Harper (sighing):

"It's also smart."

Across the room, Dominic took a slow sip of his drink while speaking with a tech philanthropist.

Philanthropist:

"You didn't come to promote your AI project?"

Dominic:

"I came to see a woman turn pain into power."

Philanthropist (grinning):

"And you like that?"

Dominic (quietly):

"I respect it. There's a difference."

Meanwhile, in a private gallery downtown...

Julian stood in front of a sculpture, arms folded. Beside him, a new artist-young, edgy, with fire in her eyes-finished explaining her exhibit.

Julian:

"Your work-bold. Raw. Subversive."

Artist:

"That's the idea."

Julian (smiling):

"You're going to open my fall collection. I want you to be the face of modern rebellion."

As the artist beamed, Julian glanced at the silent screen on the wall-a livestream of Harper's panel earlier.

Julian (murmuring to himself):

"Let's see how long she shines."

That night, Harper returned home. She took off her heels slowly, standing barefoot by the balcony. She hadn't spoken to Dominic-but his silence had pressed against her like a question.

Then her phone buzzed.

Dominic Cain:

"You commanded the room. When you're ready to command mine-name the time."

Harper stared at the screen.

Harper (to herself):

"One dinner. Just dinner."

She typed:

Friday. 7 p.m. I pick the place.

She hit send-then turned off her phone.