Chapter 1

TERRASHA POV

The car smells like expensive cologne… and somebody else’s perfume.

Not mine.

I sit in the front passenger seat, spine straight, hands folded over my stomach like I’m posing for a damn portrait. My braid—thick, heavy, dragging down my back like it got its own weight class—rests over my shoulder. People always say I look… untouchable.

Funny.

Ain’t nobody ever touched me like I mattered.

I glance down at my phone, screen lighting up my face in the quiet.

Hosburg Family Group Chat (Muted)

Christopher: Doctor appointment today. Don’t be late.

Marissa: Make sure Malcolm stays. This is important.

Greg: You better not mess this up again.

Joseph: We need an heir, not excuses.

Alan: Answer your damn phone.

My thumb hovers over the keyboard.

I don’t type shit.

What am I supposed to say?

Yes sir, I’ll make sure your son actually acts like my husband for five minutes today?

Yeah. Okay.

I lock my phone and stare out the window instead, watching the city blur past like I ain’t even in it.

From the back seat—

“Ugh, Malcolm, I’m telling you, that necklace is EVERYTHING.”

Alice.

Of course.

Her voice drips through the car like syrup—thick, sweet, fake as hell.

I don’t turn around. Don’t need to. I can feel her energy like a damn mosquito buzzing in my ear.

“What was it called again?” she keeps going, dragging her words like she wants attention.

“The Seraphina Crown Jewel,” Malcolm says, casual, like he ain’t got a whole wife sitting right next to him.

My jaw tightens just a little.

Alice gasps dramatically. “YES! That one. It’s literally, like, historic. They said it belonged to some royal bloodline or whatever. I’m going to that auction, Malcolm, I don’t even care. I need it.”

Need it.

I almost laugh.

Some people need jewelry.

Some people need a husband who don’t cheat in broad daylight.

But hey.

We all got priorities.

Malcolm hums low, one hand on the wheel. “We’ll see.”

We.

Not you.

Not I’ll get it for you.

We.

Like I ain’t even here.

Alice leans forward between the seats, her nails tapping lightly against Malcolm’s shoulder. “Oh—and guess what? They’re doing a reunion. Like… everybody from school. On a yacht.”

She pauses.

I can feel it.

That little moment where she waits… just in case I say something.

I don’t.

She smirks anyway—I can hear it in her voice. “It’s gonna be insane. Private guest list, champagne, live music… the whole thing.”

Silence fills the car after that.

Heavy.

Thick.

Intentional.

Because we all know.

I wasn’t invited.

Wouldn’t be invited.

Ain’t nobody thinking about me unless it got something to do with a last name or a damn baby.

Malcolm doesn’t even glance at me.

He just keeps driving.

Like I’m part of the seat.

Like I came with the damn car.

We pull up to the maternity center.

Big glass building. Clean. Quiet.

Cold.

The car slows, then stops.

Malcolm finally looks at me.

Not soft. Not caring. Just… looking.

“Get out.”

That’s it.

No you okay?

No I’ll come in with you.

Just—

“Get out.”

For a second, I don’t move.

Not because I’m shocked.

But because… damn.

You would think I’d get used to it by now.

I reach for the handle, slow, controlled. Open the door.

Step out.

My heels click against the pavement—sharp, echoing, like they louder than I feel.

I shut the door behind me, gentle. Not slamming it.

I don’t give him that satisfaction.

I stand there for a second.

The car idles.

Then—

Malcolm gets out.

But not for me.

He walks around the car, opens the passenger door.

“For you,” he says, softer.

Alice giggles like that shit cute, sliding out like she royalty or something.

“Thank you, baby,” she says, dragging the word.

Baby.

I look away.

Because if I keep watching, I might actually feel something.

And I don’t got time for that.

They get back in.

The door shuts.

The engine hums—

And just like that…

They pull off.

Leaving me standing there.

Alone.

I take a breath.

Then another.

Then I walk inside.

The place smells like antiseptic and fake flowers.

Reception desk straight ahead.

A woman looks up, polite smile already loaded.

“Good morning! Name?”

“Terrasha Hosburg.”

Her fingers fly across the keyboard. “Alright… I see you here. Appointment for today, yes?”

I nod.

She glances behind me.

Then back at her screen.

Then back at me.

“Your husband isn’t with you?”

Of course that’s the first damn question.

I press my lips together, then let out a quiet breath.

“He didn’t feel like coming.”

I say it flat.

Like it don’t mean nothing.

The receptionist pauses—just for a second.

Like she don’t know whether to say something or mind her business.

Smart girl.

She nods. “Okay… no problem. You can have a seat. The nurse will call you shortly.”

I give a small nod and turn away.

The waiting area is quiet.

Too quiet.

I sit down, hands resting over my stomach again.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like I’m holding something fragile.

My phone buzzes.

I already know who it is.

I look down anyway.

Marissa: Where is Malcolm?

Christopher: Answer immediately.

Greg: Don’t play with us today.

Joseph: We told you this appointment matters.

Alan: If you mess this up—

I lock my phone again.

Set it down in my lap.

My fingers tighten just a little.

Then loosen.

Because what they don’t understand is—

I didn’t mess shit up.

I showed up.

I always show up.

Even when I’m the only one who do.

I lean back in the chair, staring at the ceiling.

Breathing.

Slow.

Controlled.

Because if I don’t keep it together…

If I let even a little bit of how I really feel slip out—

I might not stop.

And something in me…

Something real quiet…

Real deep…

Is starting to shift.

Like maybe…

Just maybe…

I’m getting tired of being the only one sitting in this damn front seat alone.

The suite is too damn pretty for what it’s used for.

Soft lighting. Cream-colored walls. Big window with sunlight pouring in like everything in here supposed to feel warm and safe. The bed is wide, sheets tucked so tight they don’t even wrinkle when I shift. I’m laid back against the pillows in this silky hospital gown they gave me—thin straps, soft fabric brushing against my skin like I’m supposed to feel delicate.

I don’t.

The hospital band hugs my wrist like a reminder.

Name. Date. Identity.

Like they gotta label me to make me real.

My braid rests over my shoulder, heavy as hell, sliding down my chest. I run my fingers over it absentmindedly, just to feel something that belongs to me.

The door clicks.

I don’t look right away.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hosburg.”

I glance over.

Doctor Elias Rayes.

Tall. Clean. Calm. The type that don’t rush his words and don’t look at you like you’re just another case file.

“Morning,” I say, voice low.

He gives me a small nod, stepping closer. “How are you feeling today?”

I shrug a little. “Alive.”

He huffs a quiet breath—almost like a laugh, but not quite. “That’s a start.”

He pulls on gloves, then moves closer, lifting the edge of my gown just enough to expose my stomach. His hands are warm when they press against my skin, firm but careful.

“You’ve been under a lot of stress,” he says, glancing up at me briefly. “You need to take it easy. Your body can only handle so much.”

I let out a soft breath through my nose. “Yeah… I hear that a lot.”

He doesn’t push it.

Just nods and reaches for the ultrasound wand.

Cold gel hits my stomach and I flinch just a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

“It’s fine.”

The screen flickers on.

Black and white shapes move, blurry at first… then clearer.

A heartbeat.

Strong.

Fast.

My fingers curl slightly into the sheet.

Doctor Rayes studies the screen, quiet for a moment.

Then—

“Well,” he says, voice steady, “everything looks healthy… and—”

He tilts the wand slightly.

“That’s your answer.”

I stare at the screen.

Trying to make sense of it.

Then it clicks.

“…It’s a boy?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

He nods. “Yes. You’re having a son.”

A son.

The word sits in my chest… heavy.

Not painful.

Just… heavy.

Like something important just happened, and I don’t even know how to feel about it.

“Congratulations,” he says softly.

I nod once.

“Yeah… thanks.”

A few minutes later, I’m alone again.

I grab my phone.

Open the group chat.

My thumb hovers.

Then I type.

Me: It’s a boy.

I hit send.

And just like that—

The phone explodes.

Marissa: A BOY?!

Christopher: Finally.

Greg: That’s what the hell I’m talking about.

Joseph: Good. Good.

Alan: See? It wasn’t that damn hard.

I stare at the messages.

No “Are you okay?”

No “How do you feel?”

Just—

Relief.

Satisfaction.

Like I just clocked in and did my job right.

My phone buzzes again.

Different notification.

Twitter.

I almost ignore it.

Almost.

But something in me says look.

So I tap it.

And there it is.

A photo.

Bright. Flashy. Loud.

Malcolm.

Alice.

Sitting close together on a damn yacht.

Sun hitting the water behind them, champagne glasses in hand like they in a music video or some shit.

And around her neck—

The necklace.

The Seraphina Crown Jewel.

She got it.

Of course she did.

Her head tilted slightly toward him, lips curved like she won something.

Malcolm looking… relaxed.

Happy.

Like the man I ain’t never seen in my own damn house.

My chest tightens just a little.

Then goes numb.

I scroll.

Comments going crazy.

“He’s married???”

“That girl is a whole homewrecker.”

“She looks like she don’t even care.”

“This is embarrassing as hell.”

“Malcolm Hosburg really out here disrespecting his wife publicly???”

I lock my phone.

Set it down.

Don’t say a word.

The group chat?

Blows the hell up.

Marissa: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!

Greg: I KNOW THIS NIGGA AIN’T ON A BOAT RIGHT NOW.

Joseph: WITH THAT DIRTY ASS GIRL?!

Alan: SHE A FUCKING WHORE, I BEEN SAID IT.

Christopher: MALCOLM HAS LOST HIS DAMN MIND.

I don’t respond.

What am I supposed to say?

Yeah, I saw it too?

Yeah, that’s my husband embarrassing the fuck out of me in 4K?

Yeah.

No.

I just sit there.

Quiet.

Not even twenty minutes later—

The suite door SLAMS open.

The whole damn family.

Christopher storms in first, phone pressed to his ear, face red as hell.

“You better bring your black ass here RIGHT FUCKING NOW, you little son of a bitch!!” he roars into the phone.

I can hear Malcolm faintly on the other end—calm, unbothered.

Like he always is.

Christopher hits speaker.

“Say something, Malcolm!”

Malcolm’s voice comes through, flat. “What.”

“What?!” Greg snaps. “Nigga, you on a damn boat while your WIFE is at the doctor’s office carrying your child?!”

Joseph cuts in, loud as hell. “IT’S A BOY, YOU DUMBASS!”

Silence for half a second.

Then Malcolm, still calm. “I heard.”

I blink slowly.

Heard.

That’s it?

“That’s all the fuck you got to say?!” Alan shouts. “You heard?! Nigga, you should be HERE!”

Marissa is pacing, furious. “You have embarrassed this family enough! Get here immediately!”

Christopher leans into the phone, voice low but dangerous. “I swear to God, Malcolm, you better fix this shit before I fix it for you.”

The line goes dead.

Christopher lowers the phone, breathing heavy.

The room is loud.

Angry.

Explosive.

And I’m just…

Laying here.

They calm down eventually.

A little.

Greg drops a bag on the table next to me. “We got you something to eat.”

I glance over.

Italian.

My favorite.

Shrimp and scallop Luciano.

I sit up slowly, pulling the tray closer.

“…Thanks,” I say quietly.

Marissa softens just a little when she looks at me. “You need to eat, baby.”

Baby.

Funny word.

I pick up the fork and start eating.

The food is warm.

Comforting.

Real.

Unlike everything else in my life right now.

“Nobody got Malcolm shit,” Joseph mutters. “Fuck him.”

Greg snorts. “He can eat on that damn boat with his little bitch.”

A few of them laugh.

Dark.

Bitter.

I just keep eating.

Then—

The door opens again.

Hard.

Malcolm walks in.

Alice right behind him.

And just like that—

The room ERUPTS.

“What the FUCK is wrong with you?!” Greg shouts.

“You got some nerve showing your face here!” Joseph adds.

Marissa points straight at Alice. “Get her the hell out of here!”

Alice rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “Oh my God, relax. It’s not that serious.”

Not that serious.

The whole room goes OFF.

“Bitch, don’t you EVER disrespect her like that again!” Alan snaps.

Christopher steps forward, voice low and lethal. “You better watch your mouth before I forget you’re a guest in this building.”

Malcolm doesn’t even flinch.

He just walks past all of them.

Straight to me.

Like none of that shit matters.

He sets a gift bag and some flowers on the table.

Then leans down.

Presses a kiss to my forehead.

For a second—

It almost feels real.

Like I got a husband.

Like I matter.

Then it hits me.

All of it.

The yacht.

The photo.

The way he told me to get out the car.

The way he didn’t even say shit about his own son.

Something in me snaps.

I push him back.

Hard.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I say, voice low but sharp.

He blinks at me.

Like he confused.

Like I’m the problem.

I grab the fork—

And throw it at him.

It clatters against his chest, falling to the floor.

“Don’t touch me,” I snap, voice rising now. “Don’t you ever put your fucking hands on me like we good, Malcolm. We are not good.”

Alice scoffs behind him. “Girl, you’re doing the most—”

I turn my head slowly.

Look dead at her.

“I promise you, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I will drag you by that little necklace you got on and choke the life out your dumb ass right here in this room,” I say, calm. Too calm.

She goes quiet.

For once.

I look back at Malcolm.

“You really came in here with her?” I continue, voice shaking just a little now. “You really that bold? That disrespectful? I’m in here carrying your child, and you out there playing house with that bitch on a damn yacht like I don’t exist?”

He sighs, like I’m inconveniencing him. “Terrasha—”

“No, don’t ‘Terrasha’ me,” I cut him off. “Don’t say my name like you give a fuck, because you don’t. You never did.”

The room is silent now.

Even the family.

Watching.

Listening.

“You embarrassed me,” I continue, my voice cracking just a little. “You embarrassed yourself. And you embarrassed your son before he even got here.”

Malcolm’s jaw tightens.

But he still don’t say shit.

Of course he don’t.

He never does when it actually matters.

Christopher steps in, pointing at the door. “Get the hell out.”

Malcolm glances at him.

Then back at me.

“…I’ll come later,” he says.

Like that fixes anything.

Like I’m supposed to wait.

I laugh.

Soft.

Bitter.

“Don’t bother,” I mutter.

He doesn’t respond.

Just turns.

Walks out.

Alice follows.

And just like that—

They’re gone again.

The room is quiet.

Heavy.

I lean back against the pillows.

Stare up at the ceiling.

My food sitting half-eaten on the tray.

My chest feels…

Empty.

Not broken.

Not even hurt.

Just…

Done.

And for the first time—

I don’t think I’m waiting for him to come back anymore.

Evening settles over the suite like a slow exhale.

The lights are dimmed now—soft gold along the walls, the city outside turning into little glittering dots through the window. The bed feels too big. Too quiet. Too… empty.

I’m on my side, facing away from the door, knees slightly pulled up, one hand tucked under my cheek and the other resting low on my stomach.

Three weeks.

That’s what the doctor said.

Three weeks and everything changes.

Or maybe nothing changes at all.

I stare at the wall, not really seeing it.

Just… existing.

The door opens behind me.

I don’t move.

Don’t ask who it is.

I already know.

Footsteps.

Heavy. Familiar.

A plastic bag rustles softly.

“…You didn’t finish what they got you earlier,” Malcolm says, voice low, almost careful.

I scoff under my breath and shift slightly, turning my back even more toward him.

“Wow. You noticed something about me for once. That’s new.”

Silence.

Then the bag sets down on the table.

“I brought you something,” he says.

“I don’t want it.”

My voice comes out flat.

Dry.

Like I mean every word.

He sighs, longer this time, like he’s already irritated. “Terrasha, don’t start—”

I roll over fast, pushing myself up onto one elbow, glaring at him.

“Don’t start?” I repeat, my voice sharp as hell. “Nigga, what the fuck do you mean ‘don’t start’? You already started it when you decided to go play house with that bitch on a damn yacht while I’m sitting here getting my stomach checked for your child. So don’t—don’t even try to flip this shit on me like I’m doing too much.”

He stares at me, jaw tight, but he doesn’t interrupt.

So I keep going.

“Honestly, I didn’t even want to marry your ass in the first place,” I snap, sitting up more fully now. “They put me in this shit like I was some damn contract, like I ain’t got no say in my own life, and now I’m stuck here carrying your baby while you out here acting like you single and free. That’s some bullshit, Malcolm. That’s some real fucked up shit.”

The words hang in the air.

Heavy.

Raw.

He exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“…You done?” he asks, quieter now.

I stare at him for a second.

Then look away.

“Yeah. For now.”

He nods once, then reaches into the bag and starts pulling stuff out.

The smell hits me first.

Warm.

Savory.

Familiar.

My stomach flips.

I look back over without meaning to.

“…You got shrimp,” I mutter.

“And scallops,” he adds, setting the container down on the tray. “Extra sauce. The way you like it.”

My chest tightens just a little.

I hate that he knows that.

I hate that I want it.

I don’t say thank you.

I don’t ask questions.

I just reach over, grab the container, and start eating.

Because I’m hungry.

Because the baby’s hungry.

Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t need anything.

Malcolm watches me for a second, then sits down in the chair beside the bed.

The room goes quiet again.

Just the sound of my fork scraping the container.

Then—

His phone rings.

He glances at it.

Alice.

Of course.

He answers it on speaker.

“What.”

Her voice comes through, soft, dramatic, like she always putting on a damn show.

“Malcolm… something’s wrong, my chest hurts and I feel like I can’t breathe right, and I don’t know if it’s the necklace or the food or what but I need you to come—like, now.”

I freeze for half a second.

Fork hovering in midair.

Then I keep eating.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Like I didn’t hear shit.

Malcolm doesn’t answer right away.

I can feel his eyes on me.

Watching.

Waiting.

Like he trying to decide something.

Then—

“…I’ll come tomorrow,” he says.

Just like that.

Alice goes quiet for a second.

“…What?” she asks, like she didn’t hear him right.

“I said tomorrow,” he repeats, voice flat. “I’m busy.”

There’s a pause.

Then her tone shifts, a little sharper. “Malcolm, I said I don’t feel good—”

“You’ll be fine,” he cuts in. “Go to sleep or something.”

Then he hangs up.

Just like that.

No hesitation.

No softness.

Nothing.

I keep eating.

But my chest feels… weird.

I don’t look at him.

Don’t acknowledge it.

Because I don’t even know what the hell that just was.

He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees.

“…Doctor say anything else?” he asks.

I shrug, still focused on the food. “Three weeks.”

He nods slowly. “That soon.”

“Yeah.”

Silence again.

Then—

“You okay?” he asks.

I stop chewing.

Just for a second.

Then I swallow and shrug again. “I’m here.”

“That ain’t what I asked.”

I let out a quiet breath, staring down into the container.

“I don’t know what the fuck ‘okay’ is supposed to feel like right now, Malcolm,” I say, my voice lower now, less sharp. “I’m tired. I’m pissed. I’m pregnant. I’m stuck in a situation I didn’t choose, with a man who don’t even act like he want me… so no, I’m probably not okay. But I’m functioning. So I guess that’s enough for everybody, right?”

He doesn’t respond right away.

Just watches me.

Quiet.

I finish eating.

Every last bite.

Because I needed it.

Because I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I wasn’t anymore.

I close the container and hand it back to him without looking up.

“…Here.”

My voice cracks a little.

Damn.

I hate that.

I shift, laying back down on my side again, turning away from him.

Pulling the blanket up slightly.

My eyes sting.

I blink.

Hard.

But it doesn’t help.

A tear slips out anyway.

Then another.

I press my face into the pillow, trying to keep it quiet.

Trying to keep it together.

Because I’m not about to break down in front of him.

Not like that.

Not—

The mattress dips behind me.

Before I can react—

An arm wraps around me.

Firm.

Warm.

Pulling me back against him.

I stiffen instantly.

“The fuck—Malcolm, let go of me,” I snap, trying to push his arm away.

He doesn’t.

His grip tightens just enough to keep me in place.

“No.”

“No?” I repeat, voice rising. “Nigga, I said let me go—”

“No,” he says again, lower this time, closer to my ear. “You not about to sit here and cry by yourself like I don’t see you.”

I struggle again, pushing at his arm, trying to create space.

“I don’t need you,” I hiss. “I’ve been doing this shit by myself this whole time, don’t start acting different now like you suddenly give a fuck—”

“I always gave a fuck,” he mutters.

I laugh.

It comes out broken.

“Bullshit.”

He doesn’t argue.

Just tightens his hold slightly, pulling me closer.

My back pressed against his chest.

His hand resting over mine… over my stomach.

“You can push me all you want,” he says quietly, “but I’m not letting you sit here and fall apart like that. Not tonight.”

My throat tightens.

I try to fight it.

I do.

My hands push against his arm again, weaker this time.

“Malcolm… stop,” I whisper, voice shaking.

He doesn’t.

He just holds me.

Steady.

Solid.

Like he not moving for nothing.

And slowly…

My body stops fighting.

My hands relax.

My breathing breaks.

A sob slips out.

Then another.

And before I can stop it—

I’m crying.

For real.

Quiet at first.

Then deeper.

Ugly.

Raw.

My fingers clutch at the sheets, then at his arm.

And I hate it.

I hate that I’m letting him hold me.

I hate that it feels… safe.

Even just for a second.

He doesn’t say much.

Just shifts slightly, his hand rubbing slow circles against my stomach.

Grounding.

Comforting.

Like he knows exactly what I need right now.

And that pisses me off too.

Because where the fuck was this energy before?

“Why now…” I choke out, barely able to get the words together. “Why you acting like this now…?”

He exhales softly against my hair.

“…Because you’re carrying my son,” he says.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Tears still falling.

“…That’s not enough,” I whisper.

His hand pauses for a second.

Then continues moving, slow and steady.

“…I know,” he says quietly.

And for once—

He doesn’t try to argue.

He just holds me.

While I cry myself into silence.

A few days later…

The suite doesn’t feel the same anymore.

Not because anything changed—

But because I did.

I’m sitting up at the edge of the bed now, dressed in my clothes again instead of that soft hospital gown. My braid is redone, thicker, tighter, falling down my back like armor. The hospital band is still on my wrist, but loose now… like it’s ready to come off.

I stare at it for a second.

Then look away.

The door opens.

Malcolm steps in, a clipboard in his hand.

“Sign these,” he says, holding it out toward me.

I don’t take it right away.

I just look at him.

Really look at him.

He looks… normal.

Like nothing happened.

Like he didn’t just spend the last few days holding me together while also breaking me at the same time.

I take the clipboard.

Sign my name.

Slide it back to him.

No words.

He nods once, then turns and hands it off to the nurse outside.

And just like that—

I’m discharged.

We walk out together.

Side by side.

The hallway is quiet, the polished floors reflecting our steps as we move. Nurses glance at us, whispering low, eyes flicking between me and Malcolm like they already know the story.

They probably do.

Everybody does.

As we reach the exit, Malcolm’s hand finds mine.

I pause.

Just for a second.

My fingers twitch slightly in his grip.

But I don’t pull away.

Not this time.

The doors slide open—

And chaos hits us like a damn wave.

“MR. HOSBURG!”

“IS IT TRUE YOUR WIFE IS PREGNANT?!”

“WHAT ABOUT THE YACHT INCIDENT?!”

“MISS HOSBURG, HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT YOUR HUSBAND’S RELATIONSHIP WITH ALICE VIRELLE?!”

Flashes.

Cameras.

Voices overlapping, loud as hell.

My chest tightens instantly.

I freeze.

Malcolm’s grip tightens around my hand.

“Don’t look at them,” he mutters low, stepping in front of me slightly, shielding me. “Just walk.”

“I—” My voice catches. “Malcolm—”

“I got you,” he says, firm this time.

His arm comes around my back, guiding me forward, his body blocking most of the chaos as we push through the crowd.

Questions keep flying.

“ARE YOU STAYING TOGETHER?!”

“IS THE CHILD MALCOLM’S?!”

“WHAT ABOUT ALICE—”

“Move,” Malcolm snaps sharply, his tone cutting through the noise like a blade. “Back the fuck up.”

Something in his voice makes them hesitate.

Just enough.

He opens the car door for me.

“Get in.”

I slide into the front seat quickly, pulling the door shut behind me like it’s the only barrier between me and the outside world.

He circles around, gets in, slams his door.

The driver pulls off immediately.

And just like that—

Silence.

The car hums softly as we move.

My hands rest in my lap, fingers still slightly shaking.

Malcolm doesn’t say anything right away.

Neither do I.

Then—

The car system lights up.

Incoming call.

Alice.

Of course.

Malcolm exhales quietly, then answers it.

“Yeah.”

Her voice floods the car, soft, exaggerated, almost fragile.

“Malcolm… I’ve been trying to reach you all morning, and you didn’t answer, and I just feel so off today, like my head is spinning and my chest still hurts, and I don’t think I should be alone right now…”

I stare straight ahead.

Out the window.

Like I’m not hearing this shit again.

“…I need you,” she adds, dragging the words like she’s performing.

Malcolm doesn’t answer right away.

I can feel his eyes on me again.

Watching.

Waiting.

I don’t turn.

Don’t react.

Don’t give him anything.

After a moment—

“…I’ll come by later,” he says.

Not now.

Later.

There’s a pause on her end.

“…Okay,” she says slowly, like she ain’t fully satisfied but she’ll take it. “Don’t take too long.”

He doesn’t respond.

Just ends the call.

The car goes quiet again.

He glances at me.

“…You got something to say?” he asks.

I shake my head once, still looking out the window.

“Nah,” I murmur. “You already said it for me.”

We pull up to the estate.

Big.

Cold.

Unforgiving as always.

The gates open.

The car rolls in.

And for a second…

I feel like I’m walking back into a cage.

We step inside together.

The doors open wide, staff lined up like always.

One of them immediately steps forward, reaching for my coat.

“Welcome back, Miss—”

I slide it off and hand it to her without a word.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

I nod once.

Then I look up.

The family is already there.

Waiting.

And they do not look happy.

Not even a little bit.

Christopher stands near the center of the room, arms crossed, face tight. Marissa is beside him, lips pressed together, eyes sharp. Greg, Joseph, and Alan are scattered around, all of them looking like they ready to snap.

The tension hits instantly.

Thick.

Heavy.

Unavoidable.

“Well,” Greg starts, his voice already edged with anger, “look who the fuck decided to show up.”

Joseph scoffs. “Nigga, you really got us out here looking stupid.”

Alan shakes his head. “You out here playing house with that bitch while your wife getting harassed by the press? That’s the move you chose?”

Malcolm doesn’t back down.

Doesn’t even flinch.

“I handled it,” he says calmly.

“The fuck you did!” Christopher snaps, stepping forward. “You embarrassed this family on a global scale, Malcolm. That shit wasn’t handling anything—that was you being reckless, disrespectful, and stupid all at the same time.”

Marissa cuts in, her voice sharp. “And you had the audacity to bring her into the hospital after everything? Are you out of your damn mind?”

Malcolm’s jaw tightens.

“I said I handled it.”

“You didn’t handle shit!” Greg barks. “You made it worse!”

Voices start overlapping.

Yelling.

Cussing.

Everyone talking over each other at once.

And I’m standing there—

Right in the middle of it.

Invisible.

Again.

My chest tightens slightly.

Not from anger.

Not from hurt.

Just… exhaustion.

I step away.

Quietly.

No one notices.

Of course they don’t.

I walk over to the couch and sit down slowly, my body sinking into the cushions.

The yelling continues behind me.

Loud.

Explosive.

Pointless.

I lean back slightly, one hand resting on my stomach.

Three weeks.

That’s all I can think about.

Three weeks until everything changes.

Or maybe—

Three weeks until I finally do.

Because sitting here…

Listening to them argue like I’m not even part of the equation…

I can feel it again.

That same shift from before.

Slow.

Quiet.

But real.

Something in me is starting to move.

And this time…

I don’t think it’s going to stop.

The backyard is quiet.

Too quiet compared to the chaos inside.

The grass stretches out wide and perfect, trimmed like somebody out here fighting for their life to keep it that way. The pool water glows under the evening lights, soft blue ripples moving slow like nothing in this world got problems.

I sit on one of the lounge chairs, legs stretched out, a blanket draped loosely over me.

A bowl of apple slices rests in my lap.

Fresh.

Cold.

Perfectly cut.

Of course they are.

Greg did them.

He always does.

I pick one up, biting into it slowly. The crunch is loud in the silence, the sweetness hitting my tongue in a way that feels… simple.

Normal.

For once.

Greg leans against the railing not too far from me, arms crossed, watching the yard like he guarding it or something.

He glances over at me every now and then.

Not in a weird way.

Just… checking.

Making sure I’m still okay.

Out of all of them—

He’s the only one that don’t make me feel like I’m just… a job.

“You eating enough?” he asks, voice low, calm.

I nod, chewing slowly. “Yeah… I’m good.”

“You sure?” he presses a little. “You been through a lot the past few days, T. Don’t be acting like you invincible or some shit.”

I look over at him.

Just for a second.

Then back down at the apples.

“I’m not,” I murmur. “I’m just… tired.”

He nods like he understands.

Because I think he actually does.

Footsteps approach from behind.

Heavy.

Familiar.

I don’t turn around.

Don’t need to.

Malcolm.

He stops a few feet away from me.

I can feel it.

That presence.

That tension.

“I’m heading out,” he says.

I pick up another apple slice.

Take a bite.

Don’t look at him.

“…Okay.”

That’s all I give him.

No questions.

No attitude.

No nothing.

Just—

Okay.

There’s a pause.

Like he expected more.

Like he waiting for something.

I don’t give it to him.

“…I’m going to see Alice,” he adds.

Like that’s supposed to mean something to me.

Like I’m supposed to react.

I chew slowly.

Swallow.

Then shrug just a little.

“Alright.”

Flat.

Empty.

Done.

Out of everything—

That’s what hits him.

I can feel it.

The silence stretches.

Then he exhales, low and frustrated.

“…You don’t care?” he asks.

I finally glance up at him.

Not angry.

Not sad.

Just… blank.

“I used to,” I say quietly. “A lot.”

I look back down at the apples.

“…I don’t got that energy no more, Malcolm.”

The words land.

Heavy.

Real.

He doesn’t respond right away.

Just stands there.

Like he trying to figure out if I’m serious.

I am.

After a moment, he runs a hand over his face.

“…I’ll be back later,” he mutters.

I don’t answer.

Don’t nod.

Don’t even look at him again.

He lingers for a second longer.

Then—

He leaves.

The backyard goes quiet again.

Just me and Greg.

I take another bite of the apple.

But it don’t taste the same now.

Not as sweet.

Greg pushes off the railing and walks over, dropping down onto the chair beside me.

“…You alright?” he asks, softer this time.

I nod automatically.

Then shake my head.

Then sigh.

“I don’t even know what ‘alright’ is anymore,” I admit, voice barely above a whisper.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You don’t gotta keep that shit bottled up, you know,” he says. “You been holding it together for everybody else, but ain’t nobody really checking you like that.”

I glance at him.

“…You are.”

He shrugs. “Somebody gotta.”

A small breath leaves me.

Not quite a laugh.

But close.

I look back out at the yard.

“…Why do you even care?” I ask quietly. “You don’t have to.”

Greg turns his head, looking straight at me now.

“Because you didn’t deserve none of this shit,” he says simply. “And everybody acting like you just supposed to take it and be grateful? Nah. That ain’t right.”

My chest tightens a little.

In a different way this time.

Not painful.

Just… warm.

I look down at the bowl, picking at the last few slices.

“…I didn’t even want this life,” I murmur. “They just… put me in it. And now I’m stuck.”

“You not stuck,” he says firmly.

I look up at him.

“Yes I am.”

He shakes his head. “Nah. You just haven’t left yet.”

The words hit deeper than I expect.

I go quiet.

Because part of me knows he’s right.

And that’s the scary part.

A few seconds pass.

Then Greg leans back in his chair, stretching slightly.

“…Come out with me,” he says suddenly.

I blink.

“What?”

“Dinner,” he clarifies. “Somewhere nice. Somewhere that ain’t this damn house. You need to get out, breathe a little, feel like a person again.”

I stare at him.

Processing.

“…You serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious,” he says, giving me a look. “What, you think I’m playing with you?”

I hesitate.

Not because I don’t want to.

But because…

I don’t remember the last time someone asked me to go somewhere just because they wanted my company.

Not because they needed something from me.

Not because of the baby.

Just…

Me.

“…I don’t even know if I got the energy for all that,” I admit.

Greg leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees again.

“Then we keep it simple,” he says. “Good food, quiet spot, no cameras, no bullshit. Just you getting out this house for a couple hours.”

I look down at my hands.

Then at the empty bowl.

Then back up at him.

And for the first time in a while—

I feel something close to… relief.

“…Okay,” I say softly.

His eyebrows lift slightly.

“Yeah?”

I nod once.

“Yeah.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Alright then,” he says, standing up. “Go get dressed. We leaving in like twenty.”

I watch him walk off.

And for a moment—

I just sit there.

Still.

Quiet.

Processing.

Because that feeling in my chest?

It’s not heavy.

It’s not empty.

It’s…

Light.

And I forgot what that felt like.

I push myself up slowly, one hand resting on my stomach.

Three weeks.

Everything changes in three weeks.

But maybe…

Just maybe…

Something already started tonight.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***