“What kind of town business?” Serena asked.
“The ‘I’ll handle it’ kind. Y’all go change. Mr. Benton got cocoa in the works.”
Serena studied me for another second, then nodded. “Come on, ZiZi. Get them boots off before Mr. Benton has a stroke.”
“Okay!” Aziza bounced toward the stairs. Halfway up, she turned, eyes wide. “Mama, can we go again? In a couple of days? Please?”
We might all be in court in a couple of days, baby. Some judge might be deciding when I’m allowed to see you.
But I couldn’t say that, so instead, I gave a weak, “Yes.”
She grinned and disappeared around the landing, Serena right behind her. I stayed in the foyer, fingers tight around that cheap snow globe.
Later, after cocoa and giggles and lots of hugs, the house quieted. Aziza fell asleep mid-sentence, sprawled across my bed in her reindeer pajamas. I lay there for a long time just watching her breathe, a little crease between her brows even in sleep.
“What you dreaming about, girl? Please let it be fake snow and not grown people mess,” I whispered, brushing a curl off her forehead.
At some point, Serena came to the door, leaning on the frame. “You want me to carry her to her room?” she asked softly.
“She can stay. Just tonight,” I whispered back.
Her eyes narrowed. “You sure you okay?”
No.
“I will be,” I assured her. “Thanks for today.”
She nodded, like she knew not to push any more. “I’m right down the hall. You need anything, knock. Or text. Or scream. I got hands.”
A tiny laugh escaped me. “I know, crazy! Goodnight.”
“Night, Ky.”
She closed the door, and it was just my sleeping daughter and I and all the worries I’d picked up today. I tried to read. Write. Respond to my readers. All I saw was Jabali’s face. The way his eyes had looked when he said her name out loud. The way his jaw had clenched, how he’d still called herhisdaughter even while I was doing everything I could to shut him out.
He’d always been like that, just stubborn, intense. Jabali was way too willing to take on battles and so unwilling to take no for an answer. Mrs. Amanda had told me how he’d come by, how he’d seemed hopeful. I figured he felt guilty for breaking my heart. Now, he knew there’d been more than my broken heart I was hiding. Now, he knew there was a child in the equation, a girl with his name in hers and his melted chocolate eyes looking at Emancipation from on top of the hill.
I thought about dragging my baby through custody battles, about the questions a judge might ask, about the way Aziza might look at me someday and ask why I didn’t tell her. I finally drifted off sometime around midnight, cheek pressed against the back of my daughter’s hand.
I woke up, knowing something was wrong.
It wasn’t a sound, exactly. More like the absence of sound. The house had a rhythm to its quiet, the electricity humming, the occasional beep of a security warning, the old bones settling in the night. I’d lived here. I knew when it was right.
This… wasn’t.
My eyes flew open. The room was dim. The curtains were cracked just enough to let some moonlight in, pale strips of light on the floor and bed. Aziza was still beside me, mouth open, softsnores puffing out of her. There was someone else in the room. I didn’t move. Didn’t gasp. My heart went from zero to Noah Lyles in one second flat.
A tall shadow leaned against the far wall, just outside the glow from the window. Not Mr. Benton’s thin shape. Not Serena’s softer one. Every horror movie I’d ever side-eyed flashed through my mind. My hand inched toward the nightstand, toward my phone.
“Don’t,” a low voice ordered.
My fingers froze. I knew that voice. Of course I did.
“Jabali,” I said, throat dry.
He stepped forward, just enough for his face to come into the light. That full beard, those familiar eyes, and an expression darker than I’d ever seen it.
His gaze flicked to Aziza, then back to me. “Be quiet. I’m not here to scare her or hurt you. But I’m not leaving ’til we talk.”
