And just like that, the past finally stopped breathing.
By the time we made itto Caleb’s house, the air felt different. Not lighter exactly, just freer. Like the whole family had been holding its breath for years, and now, finally, they could exhale.
Everyone was already there when we walked in. Caleb’s living room was packed: Calil, Yanna, Dana, Ahmir, Maverick, Ajaih, Knox, even Lena and Zaria were there, spread across couches and chairs, with food and drinks already laid out on the counter, like an impromptu gathering.
It should have felt heavy, somber even, but the minute Calla stepped inside, she dropped her purse, looked around, and said flatly, “About fucking time.”
For half a second, no one moved. Then Caleb choked on his drink. Calil started laughing so hard he had to bend over. Yanna covered her mouth, trying not to cackle, but even she lost it.
The tension shattered instantly. The laughter wasn’t cruel; it was cathartic. Like everyone had been waiting for permission to admit what they’d really been feeling all along.
Calla shrugged, unapologetic. “What? Y’all were thinking it too.”
Caleb wiped his eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Please,” she said, sinking into the nearest chair. “The man tried to blackmail me just a few weeks ago. Slamming down pictures of me going into Provocateur like they were the big joker, thinking he could ruin me. I see the Grim Reaper hit his ass with an Uno reverse and sent him right on to hell. Thank you, Big Grim, now I can finally take BlackSphere where it needs to go, no distractions, no sabotage.”
That set off another round of laughter and half-shocked snorts.
Calil lifted his glass. “To peace, finally.”
Everyone echoed it quietly, peace.
They started talking about logistics, then moved on to the practical stuff—funeral arrangements, the inevitable press coverage, what to do if his wife tried to contact them.
“We’re not giving him one,” Caleb said. “No memorial, no service, no speeches. If she wants to have one, fine, but we’re not going. I’ve said my goodbye.”
“Same,” Calla said. “I’m done letting him take up emotional space.”
Their mother, Andrea, nodded quietly, her eyes full of a sadness that seemed more like release than grief. “Then we move on,” she said softly. “And we heal.”
Caleb hesitated for a moment before clearing his throat. “There’s one more thing,” he said. “I wasn’t going to bring it up tonight, but maybe this is the right time. Years ago, I took out insurance policies on him, big ones. I never told him. They’re all in our names, mine, yours, Calil’s, and Mom’s.”
The room froze.
Calla blinked. “You’re serious?”
Caleb nodded. “Dead serious. They’re worth millions. I know it sounds cold, but I figured one day, we might need something good to come from all the damage he caused. Now, at least, we can make sure the rest of our lives are stable.”
Yanna’s eyes widened. “You’re saying you planned this?”
“Not planned,” Caleb said quietly. “Prepared. I wasn’t going to let him leave us broken and broke. He doesn’t get the last word.”
Calla leaned back, shaking her head. “Figures. Control freak to the bitter end.”
Caleb gave a humorless chuckle. “Maybe, but this time, we control the outcome.”
Yanna nodded slowly. “Maybe that’s the only kind of justice people like him ever face.”
The group fell quiet again, not the suffocating kind of silence, but one full of thought and acceptance—the first step toward something new.
Somewhere between the laughter, the grief, and the peace, I realized Amiyah had slipped out of the room.
I found her a few minutes later in the bathroom, leaning over the toilet, emptying her stomach.
“Hey,” I said softly, stepping inside. “You okay?”
She shook her head but didn’t turn around. “Yeah. Just… I don’t know. Death still messes with me.” Her voice cracked, quiet but raw. “Losing my parents when I was a kid, then my grandparents later, it all just comes back when I’m in places like that hospital.”
