I stand in the doorway for a second too long.
Jabari stays behind me, not stepping in, not claiming space that isn’t his.
“You alright?” he asks.
I nod slowly. “I think so.”
I pick up the first box. Then the second.
My hands don’t shake.
That surprises me.
The pain is there, but it’s not panicked. It’s quiet and feels like grief. I take one last look at the living room.
Then I turn and walk out.
When I lock the door, I feel a strange calm settle in my chest.
It’s acceptance.
Outside, the street is cold and alive and moving forward, like it doesn’t care about who I lost or what I broke.
Jabari reaches for my hand.
I let him, exhaling long and slow.
Somewhere behind the calm, my chest still aches for Za.
But my hand is in his and this time, I don’t pull away.
thirty
alone together.
Frankie.
I’min the family section at the stadium, pressed between Mrs. McKingsley and my own mum, both of them dressed like they’re attending church instead of a football match.
Mrs. McKingsley hason gold bangles that clink every time she claps. My mum has brought red stripe in a flask like the stadium doesn’t sell drinks.
“You sure you warm enough?” my mum asks for the third time.
“I’m fine, Mummy.”
She narrows her eyes. “You always say that when you’re not.”
Mrs. McKingsley leans forward as the teams walk out.
“Look at him,” she says under her breath, pride woven into every syllable.
Jabari jogs onto the pitch with Amin and Sol flanking him. The three of them move like they know cameras are watching but don’t care.
He doesn’t look up at the stands immediately.
He waits until they’re lined up, until the anthem fades, until the noise dips just slightly?—
Then his eyes scan and find me.
