“Ro.”
Her voice was quiet, steady. She was already standing in the hallway, barefoot, wearing one of those long, soft robes she always wore at night. Her hair was braided back, face bare but glowing in that soft way that only came from peace I’d never been able to give her. She wasn’t surprised.
“You knew I’d come,” I muttered, shutting the door behind me.
“I always know when you’re close,” she spoke, voice calm but cutting. “The air changes.”
I swallowed, hands sliding into my pockets, head bowed for a second too long. “You ain’t scared?”
Nova tilted her head, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. “You think I’m scared of you? Of this? Ro, I been living with ghosts since you left. One more at my door don’t shake me.”
I couldn’t meet her eyes yet, so I scanned the apartment instead—photos of Aaliyah taped to the fridge, her tiny backpack by the table. My throat tightened. “She asleep?”
Nova nodded once. “Like an angel. You gon’ wake her, stomping in here with that storm on you.”
“Can I see her?”
Her eyes softened, but not enough to let me off the hook. “Tomorrow. It’s her day. You get one shot, Ro. One. You gon’ ruin it if you come in with that weight on your back.”
My jaw clenched. “I ain’t here to ruin nothing. Just… needed to see y’all.”
Nova leaned on the doorway, arms crossed. She wasn’t angry—not in the way I’d braced for. Her silence was worse. “Then see me,” she whispered. “See what you left. See what you broke.”
I finally looked at her. She wasn’t yelling, wasn’t crying. She was standing there like a wall I’d built myself and now had to climb. The robe, the soft lamplight, the weight of her gaze—it all felt like judgment and grace at the same time.
“You invited me?” I asked, voice rough.
“I invited you to her birthday,” Nova replied, steady. “Not back into our lives. There’s a difference.”
I nodded slowly, my chest tight. She was right. I didn’t deserve to be standing here. Not in this home. Not in this peace she’d carved out without me.
Nova’s eyes stayed on me, steady and sharp, like she was searching for the boy I used to be and finding a stranger instead. “You think showing up here makes you a father?” Her voice was low, even. “You think bleeding on this block makes you a man again?”
Her words cut deeper than bullets. “I didn’t come here to fight,” I muttered, my throat tight.
She pushed off the doorway, arms folding across her chest, robe swaying around her legs as she stepped closer. “That’s all you know how to do, Ro. Fight. Bleed. Leave.”
I clenched my jaw, fingers flexing at my sides. “You think I wanted to leave? You think I didn’t hate myself every damn night I was gone?”
Her lips trembled, but her stare never wavered. “You left me burying our son by myself. You left me raising a little girl who looks for a father she don’t even know.”
The words hit like a bat to the ribs, knocking the air out of me. I swallowed hard, my eyes darting to the Bible on the table, open to a verse I couldn’t bring myself to read.
“I thought I was protecting you,” I whispered.
Nova scoffed, shaking her head. “That’s a lie men tell themselves to feel better about running.” She took another step forward, close enough for me to see the faint shimmer of tears she refused to let fall. “You didn’t protect me. You punished me. You punished yourself. And now you stand here lookin’ like you expect me to fix you.”
I looked away, my chest burning. “I don’t expect nothin’.”
“Good,” she snapped, voice still calm but sharp as glass. “’Cause I don’t owe you a thing, Roman Zore. Not peace. Not forgiveness. Not even a seat at her birthday tomorrow. I’m letting you come for her. Not for me. Not for you.”
Her words hung heavy, and I couldn’t even be mad. She was right. She’d earned every ounce of that strength.
“I just… I needed to see y’all,” I rasped, voice low, rough. “Needed to see if I even still existed in your world.”
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “You don’t.”
That one word broke me more than any bullet ever could.
