“What did you say?” Zainab whispered.
Yusef looked up. Met her eyes. Then mine.
“I said I’ll hold it down.” His voice was stronger this time. More certain. “While Prime is gone. I’ll take care of you, Auntie Zai.”
Zainab’s chair scraped against the floor as she pushed back from the table. She was around to his side in seconds, pulling him into her arms, tears already streaming down her face.
“Yusef. Baby. You’re talking. You’re really talking.”
He let her hold him. Even hugged her back, his thin arms wrapping around her as best they could with her belly in the way.
“Sloane helped me,” he said, his voice muffled against her shoulder. “She helped me find my voice again. I’m done being a baby. I’m done being scared.”
Zainab pulled back, cupping his face in her hands, looking at him like he’d just performed a miracle. “You were never a baby. You hear me? You went through something terrible. Something no child should ever have to go through. And you survived it.”
“I know.” He swallowed hard. “And when I’m ready… I’ll tell you what happened. At Rashid’s. What I saw.” His eyes flickered to me. “But not yet. I’m not ready yet.”
“Whenever you’re ready,” I said. “No pressure. No rush. You tell us when you tell us.”
“Can we finish eating now?” he asked. “The food’s getting cold.”
Zainab laughed through her tears. “Yeah, baby. Let’s eat.”
We went back to our plates, but everything felt different now. Lighter. The silence that had hung over Yusef for so long was finally broken. He wasn’t all the way healed—none of us were—but he was on his way.
And that was enough.
For the rest of dinner, we talked. Actually talked. Yusef asked what we were gonna name the baby. Zainab told him we hadn’t picked a name yet. He nodded, said he’d help us think of something.
“I’ll be a good big cousin,” he said quietly. “I’ll protect her.”
Zainab’s eyes watered. “I know you will, baby.”
I watched them together—my woman and the boy who’d become like a son to me—and felt so much hope for the future.
Later that night,after Yusef had gone to bed, I found Zainab in our room.
She was standing by the window, looking out at the LA skyline, one hand resting on her belly. The moonlight caught her silhouette, and for a moment, I just stood there, watching her.
This woman had been through hell. Arrested. Humiliated. Locked away from everyone she loved. And she was still standing. Still fighting. Still carrying my baby like it wasn’t adding thirty extra pounds to her frame.
She was the strongest person I knew.
“You just gonna stand there staring?” she asked without turning around.
“Maybe.”
I crossed the room in three steps. Wrapped my arms around her from behind, my hands finding her belly like they always did. The baby kicked against my palm, and I smiled.
“She’s active tonight,” I murmured against her neck.
“She’s always active. This girl don’t ever sleep.”
“She gets that from me.”
“Unfortunately.”
I laughed, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She turned in my arms, facing me, her belly pressed between us.
