That hit me in my gut as if someone had punched me—not because I judged her, but because I didn’t know what it felt like to be alone with a baby, your whole life changing overnight, because that made it real in a way that I hadn’t expected. I even saw Kam’s body loosen in the recliner as if he had finally gained a clearer understanding.
“You didn’t plan to keep him?” I asked.
Her eyes lifted to mine. “I was so scared.”
I stared down at the baby again. He had settled down and yawned like the innocent soul he was.
Amora continued. “When I found out, I was just so angry. At myself. At you. At everything. I kept thinking . . . this wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
I swallowed. “Why you just ain’t say nothing?”
Her laugh came out small and bitter. “Because you were living your life. You were with your family.”
My jaw tightened as she pointed toward the window as if the world outside held the evidence.
“Every time I opened my phone, it was you and Author Love Tate and Yana. Y’all were always smiling and out and about. Studio days. Father-daughter moments. And I thought . . . damn”—her voice cracked—“that could’ve been me.”
I was at a loss for words. I wanted to say something to comfort her, but I couldn’t think of anything right away. She wiped her face fast before the tears that welled in her eyes could spill onto her cheeks.
“I’m not saying I’m innocent,” she continued. “I’m saying, damn, I’m human.”
I looked down at the baby in her arms again. His eyes were still on me as if he were trying to memorize my face.
My throat tightened. “I’m not here to argue about feelings,” I said quietly. “I’m here to get the truth.”
Amora nodded immediately, too fast. “Okay.”
“We doing a DNA test,” I said.
She didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”
We sat there in silence and let the weight of the moment settle between all of us. Amora continued to bounce the baby while Kam fiddled with his thumbs. I bounced my knee up and down and anticipated what would come next.
“For my own clarity, I need it done the right way.” I cut through the silence. “Through a lab. Not no at-home swab kit you can fake for Instagram.”
Amora’s eyes flashed. “I’m not trying to fake nothing.”
I quickly responded. “I’m not saying you are. I’m just saying, you shouldn’t mind doing it the honest way.”
She held my gaze for a second, then looked away. I noticed something flicker in her expression.
“Fine,” she said. “Whatever you need to do, Zay.”
“And until we get results,” I said, “you not posting no more hints. I don’t wanna see no more captions. No more letting the comments turn into a courtroom.”
Amora’s face tightened again. “I didn’t?—”
“You did.” I cut in, and my voice sharpened. “You knew exactly what you was doing. You named him Zayn like you wanted people to connect dots. You quoted my song like you wanted the blogs to pick it up. That’s not an accident.”
Her eyes widened as if she wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t.
“Okay,” she replied, defeated.
“And I’m telling you,” I said, “I’m not playing with this. That baby didn’t ask for none of this. So we not putting him in the middle.”
Amora swallowed and nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered. “I agree.”
I stared at her, then added with a soft tone, “And if he mine . . .”
