“Eat,” I commanded, gesturing toward his plate. “That liver will put iron in your blood. Build your strength.”
Yusef stared at the slab of cow liver—unseasoned, pan-fried in its own juices—and the two sunny side up eggs beside it. His face twisted with barely concealed disgust.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I did not ask if you were hungry. I told you to eat.”
He picked up his fork, poked at the liver like it might bite him back. Brought a tiny piece to his mouth and chewed with the expression of someone swallowing medicine.
“All of it,” I said. “This is real nutrition. Not the processed garbage your aunt fed you. A man needs protein. Iron. Sustenance that builds muscle and sharpens the mind.”
He took another bite. Gagged slightly. Kept chewing.
The front door opened.
I didn’t turn around. I knew who it was by the weight of the footsteps, the familiar cadence of a walk I’d known since my nephew was a boy himself.
“Uncle Rashid.”
Demetrius stepped into the dining room, and I finally allowed myself to look at him.
Prison had changed him. He was leaner now, the softness of his youth carved away by years of institutional food and yard workouts. His head was shaved clean. His beard was full and neat. He wore the clothes I’d sent for him—simple, dignified, nothing flashy. He looked like a man who’d been through fire and emerged with something to prove.
“Demetrius.” I rose from my chair and embraced him briefly. “Welcome home.”
He pulled backand studied my face with a frown. “You lost weight, Unc. You good?”
“Fasting,” I said curtly. “Discipline of the body sharpens the mind.”
He nodded, accepting the lie. They always did.
“It’s good to be home.” His eyes slid past me to the boy at the table. A smile spread across his face. “There he is. There’s my boy.”
Demetrius moved toward the table, arms open like he expected a warm reunion. Yusef didn’t look up. Didn’t respond. Just kept pushing that liver around his plate like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Yusef.” Demetrius pulled out the chair beside him, sitting close. Too close. “Ain’t you glad to see your pops? I told you I’d be out soon. Now we can finally be together. A real family.”
Nothing. The boy was a statue.
“Yo, Yusef.” Demetrius’s smile faltered. He reached out to touch the boy’s shoulder. “Say something, man. I know it’s been a minute since the prison visit, but?—”
Yusef flinched away from his hand like it was made of fire.
Demetrius looked up at me, frustration creasing his brow. “What’s wrong with him? Why won’t he talk to me?”
“He’s being defiant.” I returned to my seat, unfolding my napkin with precise movements. “He was raised by a woman for twelve years. Single mother. No discipline. No structure. No male guidance. The result is what you see before you—a soft, emotional child who doesn’t know how to conduct himself as a man.”
“Damn.” Demetrius shook his head, looking at Yusef with something between pity and disgust. “That’s what happens when bitches try to raise boys. They turn them into little bitches, too.”
Yusef’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. So there was still some fire in there after all. Buried deep, but present.
“Sit down,” I told Demetrius. “Have breakfast. There’s much to discuss.”
He took the chair across from Yusef, and my housekeeper appeared with his plate—turkey bacon, scrambled eggs, toastwith butter. A proper meal for a man who’d just spent years eating prison slop.
Demetrius dug in without complaint, groaning with satisfaction at his first bite of real food in years, while Yusef continued his slow, painful progress through his unseasoned liver.
The contrast was intentional. Rewards for those who earned them. Discipline for those who required it.
