“I’m tryna hold it together, Nova.” My voice cracked, rough as gravel. “Trigger’s runnin’ this city like he’s Sal 2.0. Folkslookin’ at me like I don’t even belong on this block no more. And you…” I swallowed, jaw tight. “You out here still prayin’ for me like I deserve it.”
Her eyes softened, but her stance didn’t. She took a step closer, enough for me to see the sheen of raindrops in her curls. “I pray ‘cause God don’t waste nothin’, Ro. Not even you leavin’.”
That cut deeper than I was ready for. My breath hitched, chest caving under words that weren’t meant to hurt but did anyway.
I stood there, rooted in mud, staring at her. The graveyard felt heavier now, like every name on every stone was watching me choke on my own regrets.
I turned my head, eyes drifting to the stone she stood beside. Smaller than Sal’s. The flowers laid there weren’t wilted yet. My gut twisted when I read the name etched deep—Baby Zore. My breath caught like I’d been sucker-punched. My baby. Our baby. Gone before I even got to see her face.
Nova’s hand rested on that headstone like she was guarding it, thumb rubbing the cross at her neck slow, steady. Her eyes flicked up at me, soft but unreadable.
“He would’ve been four,” she whispered, voice barely above the mist.
The words hit harder than bullets. My throat locked, chest caving as I stared at that grave, knees damn near buckling.
“Nova…” My voice cracked, rough and low.
She blinked slow, holding my gaze, cutting me off. “Aaliyah’s birthday’s tomorrow. She wants her daddy there.”
The sound of my daughter’s name broke something in me. I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself, but my voice shook. “She… she knows me?”
Nova nodded once, eyes glistening. “She knows who you are. I didn’t keep you from her, Ro. You kept yourself.”
I wanted to argue, to defend myself, but the words wouldn’t come. The truth sat heavy between us, thicker than the fog.
Nova stepped back from the grave, hoodie pulled tighter. “Come tomorrow. Be her father. At least for one day.”
She turned, moving through the mist like a shadow slipping out of reach. I stayed rooted, staring at that little stone, heart thundering, shame choking me until I could barely breathe.
A distant siren wailed low, carried by the wind. I closed my eyes, letting it blend with the sound of rain dripping on stone, the faint hum of a city plotting its next move.
And right then, I felt smaller than I’d ever felt in my life. My eyes traveled back to the headstone, and everything came crashing down.
My knees gave out before I even realized I’d dropped. Mud soaked through my jeans, the cold cutting sharp, but I didn’t feel it. My hand hovered over the little headstone, trembling. His name, carved clean and simple, felt like a punch to the ribs. My boy. My son I didn’t even know I had.
“Lil’ man…” My voice cracked, raw. “Daddy’s here.”
The words tasted like blood in my mouth. Shame heavy in my chest, pressing harder with every breath. I traced the date with my finger, that one line of numbers that ended before his life even started. My shoulders hunched forward, body folding over the grave like I could protect him now, even in the dirt.
“I ain’t even get to hold you,” I muttered, voice shaking. “Didn’t even know you were real ‘til tonight.” That truth burned worse than any bullet I ever took.
The mist thickened, turning to drizzle, droplets sliding off my hoodie, dripping down my face until I couldn’t tell where rain ended and tears started. My breath hitched. “I’m sorry, lil’ man. I’m so damn sorry,” I rasped. My chest caved in, a sob ripping through me, low and broken, echoing through the graveyard.
“I was out here tryna be a king when I wasn’t even a man,” I confessed, fists curling into the mud. “Thought I was protectin’ y’all by leavin’. Thought if I stayed gone, this life wouldn’t touch you. But it touched you first.”
My knuckles slammed into the ground once, mud splashing my sleeves. The pain felt like it belonged. “You was supposed to be in your mama’s arms,” I whispered through clenched teeth. “Supposed to be runnin’ round with your sister right now, not… here. Not under this dirt.”
The rain poured harder, soaking through my hoodie, through my soul. I let it. Let it baptize me in regret. My forehead pressed against the cold stone, fingers clutching at the grass. “Grams said God don’t waste nothin’,” I muttered, voice breaking. “But how He ain’t waste this? Why’d He take you?”
A shiver ran through me, but I didn’t move. Couldn’t. “I’ll make it right,” I swore, voice low but sharp. “I don’t care who gotta fall. Daddy gon’ make this right.”
The cemetery swallowed my words whole. Only the sound of rain on leaves and a distant siren reminded me I was still alive. I sat back on my heels, hands caked in mud, breath ragged. That little stone felt heavier than Sal’s ever could.
I stood, mud clinging to my boots, hoodie clinging to my back. My shadow stretched over Sal’s grave, long and crooked like the tree above him. For a second, I thought about lighting a candle, saying a prayer like Grams would. But I didn’t. I just stood there, fists clenched, feeling the weight of the Crest on my shoulders.
Then I turned, climbing the fence quiet, boots hitting the pavement soft. I slid back into the Impala, engine purring low, headlights off as I rolled away. The graveyard faded in my rearview, but the guilt stayed riding shotgun.
I knocked down block after block until I turned the Impala onto Grams’ block, engine rumbling low as the streetlightsbuzzed over puddles and cracked pavement. Her porch light burned steady, a soft glow in a neighborhood that don’t sleep right no more. I killed the engine, leaned back in the seat, and let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My hands were still caked in mud from the cemetery, my hoodie damp, and my mind loud. The fog thickened, wrapping the street like it was trying to keep secrets. The porch light flickered over chipped paint and a screen door that squeaked like it was greeting an old friend.
