He looks dapper in a way only he can. Grief-polished yet powerful. Most importantly he’s mine. Tonight I didn’t feel like touching him erased Lena. It feels like carrying her forward together.
The hotel ballroom for the gala is breathtaking. Soft lighting drapes the walls. Crystal chandeliers shimmer overhead. Tall centerpieces of white orchids and deep red roses stand like quiet sentinels over linen-covered tables.
Lena would’ve rolled her eyes at the extravagance. Then secretly loved every second of it. The guest list is unreal.
Caleb’s athlete friends. Surgeons and hematologists from across the state. Philanthropists. Tech founders. The kind of people whose names carry weight in rooms like this. People who worked with Lena both as a dancer and therapist were there to celebrate her life. The owner of Provocateur was in attendance with a six-figure donation and some of the staff that Lena had gotten close to were there.
Olive & Oak catered the event, of course. I spot Knox across the room arguing playfully with a sommelier about plating. Maison Noire wine flows freely at every table, dark bottles lined like trophies.
The entire Black clan is here. Caleb and Yanna hugged up looking as radiant as ever. Calla is chatting with some of her tech industry friends sharing a laugh. Ajaih glowed beside Maverick and Knox. Ahmir is laughing too loudly near the silent auction table, and Dana is looking like money and mischief near the wine display. Amiyah tucked against James Jr’s side as they both watch Calla adoringly. Lena’s parents stand near the stage, dignified and soft all at once. DJ looks older tonight. Grief ages people but I know he’s getting better by the day because we talk daily.
Calil’s hand rests at my waist as we stand near the stage waiting to begin. I take a second to really look at us. He is breathtaking.
He’s wearing tailored Tom Ford. The ivory tuxedo jacket is perfectly cut to emphasize his broad shoulders and powerful frame. A crisp white shirt sits smooth against his chest, finishedwith a velvet black bow tie that contrasts beautifully against the cream tones. Black trousers fall clean and sharp on his frame. His hair and beard are lined to perfection. The glimmer of gold shine at his wrist and cufflinks. Rarely flashy—tonight he screams wealth and legacy.
He’s mine and I made sure I matched his energy.
I’m wearing an ivory tuxedo-style gown that fits like it was stitched directly onto my body. Structured shoulders. Deep neckline. A daring thigh-high slit that shows just enough leg to ooze sex appeal. The fabric drapes smooth over my curves. It’s giving elegant and commanding. My hair is styled in soft old Hollywood glamour waves that fall over one shoulder. Diamond earrings catch the light every time I move courtesy of my man.
We look like a unified couple and Calil wanted it that way.
After mingling and greeting guests, Caleb signals that it’s time. Calil squeezes my hand once before we walk toward the stage with Lena’s family. David Sr takes the mic first. He stands tall, but his eyes soften the moment he looks out at the crowd.
“My baby girl,” he begins, voice steady but thick with emotion, “spent her life teaching me something I thought I already understood.”
He pauses.
“Strength.”
The room stills.
“She fought her body every single day,” he continues. “And yet, she never let that fight steal her joy. She never let it make her bitter. She loved too big for bitterness.”
Kimberly reaches for his hand.
“She told me once,” he adds while glancing down briefly, “‘Daddy, don’t cry for me when I’m gone. Cry for the people who never learned how to love like I did.’”
A quiet wave of emotion ripples through the room. He clears his throat. A faint, knowing smile touches his lips.
“Tonight we honored her freedom.”
He bows his head. “Let us pray.”
The room follows.
“Father God, we thank You for the gift of Lena Barré. We thank You for the love she poured into every life she touched. We thank You that though her body failed her, her spirit never did. Tonight, we ask that You bless this room. You bless this mission and bless every person fighting sickle cell disease. Let Lena’s legacy be healing. Let it be research. Let it be hope. In Jesus’ name.”
“Amen,” the room echoes.
When he turns to me and hands me the mic, the room quiets. My heart pounds, but I step forward.
“My name is Zaria Thomas,” I begin, voice steady enough to carry.
“I had the honor of loving and being loved by Lena Barré.”
I pause.
“And I want to be clear about something tonight because Lena always told me to be me unapologetically.”
