“My bad, man?—”
“Get out,” I growled. My voice stayed low, but my body was already tight. My hands were steady, though. I didn’t shake or yell. I didn’t have the energy to perform rage. I had responsibilities waiting at home. I had sisters sleeping in a room that needed me whole. I had a life I couldn’t afford to throw away.
“Bro—”
“Get. Out.”
He grabbed his shoes and left without arguing. The door clicked behind him, and the room was loud with an uncomfortable silence.
Zuri’s eyes filled. Her words came out shaky. “I am sorry, Roman. I did not think you would just come. I was drunk. I was stressed. I?—”
“You did it because you thought I wouldn’t know, Because you thought I was too busy with everything else to see what was going on,” I said.
“You are always busy with the girls, with work, with school,” she said through tears. “You are never just here with me. I needed something for myself.”
“Don’t drag them into this,” I said, and my voice sharpened then, not loud, just clear. “I move my whole life around so they have what they need, and I still show up for you. It might not look the way you want, but it’s what I have.”
She wiped her face, shoulders trembling, and shook her head. “Your best is not enough for me right now.”
The sentence hit deep. No confusion. No way to soften it. No way to talk around it.
Right there, at seventeen, with my future still unfinished and my grief still fresh, I learned a lesson that stuck to my ribs: some people will watch you carry the world and still complain about how you didn’t carry them first. I didn’t argue with her after that. I didn’t beg or plead my case. I just stood there withmy heart heavy and my pride quiet, realizing I couldn’t afford love that demanded I abandon my responsibilities to prove I cared. My throat tightened. My palms burned. I nodded once, turned around, and walked out. She called after me. I did not turn back. I sat on the bus home with my jaw locked and tears in my eyes, and I did not make a sound. Men who raise children without parents do not get much space to fall apart. That was not a rule on paper, but it was real.
Back at my table, older and still building, I looked at the blinking cursor on the application.Motivation. My jaw tightened again, not from anger, but from a clear focus. This time, I wasn’t stepping forward toward anything unless I could stand in it solidly. This time, I wasn’t offering a woman half of me and calling it romance. This time, I would be ready—ready in my pockets, ready in my schedule, ready in my spirit. And when the right one came around again, I wanted my intentions to speak louder than my charm. So, I turned back to the screen and started typing with steady hands, a steady mind, and a steady mission.
“Yeah,” I said to Bryce, coming back to the present. “We talking about Zuri.”
Saying her name aloud made my jaw set, not with anger, but from memory—a quiet embarrassment that still lived in the corners of that story, even after all these years. Some wounds didn’t stay open, but they stayed sensitive. You pressed the wrong spot and remember exactly where you bled.
Bryce watched me for a beat, eyes steady, voice dropping into that serious register he used when he stopped joking and started caring. “Don’t you want what your parents had? Not just somebody in your bed? Real partnership? Somebody who stands in the storm with you? Your parents were the blueprint.”
His words sat heavy on the table between us. I didn’t answer quickly, because I didn’t want to answer carelessly. This wasn’tbarbershop talk but life talk. This was part of the conversation where you had to be honest about what you wanted and what you were afraid you couldn’t keep.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
My parents’ love wasn’t loud. It was consistent. It was groceries in the cabinet, loud laughter in the kitchen, bills paid on time, and two people who didn’t make each other’s burdens heavier. My daddy worked hard. My mama loved hard. They moved like a team, like a unit. They argued sometimes, sure, but they never made home feel unsafe. They never made love feel like a gamble.
My voice tightened as my daddy’s voice rose up in my head, clear as if he was sitting right there at the table with us.
“My daddy told me I would know when I met her,” I said, eyes lowering for a second like I was reading the memory off the grain of the wood.
“‘Son, the right woman ain’t gon’ pull you away from your responsibilities. She’ll understand them and still feel safe with you.’”
That sentence carried a lot. It held everything I learned watching him love my mama without trying to control her. It held the way he showed up every day. When he was tired, when he was stressed, when he didn’t feel like talking. He didn’t make excuses; he made solutions and a home.
I exhaled slowly, and a bitter little laugh slipped out.
“Man,” I muttered, shaking my head. “From that alone, I should’ve known Zuri’s ass wasn’t solid.”
The chuckle that followed didn’t come from joy. I needed to release something before it settled back in my chest too deeply. I wasn’t mad at her anymore. I was mad at seventeen-year-old me for thinking I could pour into somebody who wanted to be filled without learning how to hold water.
Bryce nodded like he understood the language of regret.
“Until then,” I continued, voice firmer now, “I keep my head down, handle my business, and I protect and provide for Reagan and Reece.”
I didn’t say it like a sacrifice. I watched love turn into disappointment. I watched trust crumble in real time. I saw how quickly a person could demand your whole heart while refusing to respect your real life. I wasn’t doing that again. I wasn’t handing access to my home and peace to someone who couldn’t honor it.
Bryce leaned back, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Them girls spend your money like it got their names on it.”
