Therapy had finally helpedsince I stepped down. I found out I had postpartum depression and PTSD. For the past month, it’d been the only thing keeping me from falling apart. The new meds my doctor prescribed… they helped too, but theymade my brain feel like it was moving in slow motion some days. I felt like I was in a fog, floating through time without a real sense of direction.
But the grief?
It still haunted me.
It crept in when I was alone—when the house was quiet, when the baby was sleeping, when Mula was out handling business. That’s when the memories hit the hardest.
So, I tried not to be alone. I stayed glued to my son again, keeping him close like he was the only thing anchoring me to this life. Even today, I had him strapped in his car seat, riding with me while I ran errands, like I was scared to be in the house by myself.
I glanced in the rearview mirror, watching him kick his little legs and his tiny fists waving in the air.
“You good back there, little man?” I asked, softly.
He let out a little sound, half a coo, half a sigh, like he was tired of being in the car too.
When I placed my eyes back on the road, my phone rang, and it was a Colorado number.
I frowned, switching it to speaker as I kept my eyes on the road.
“Hello?”
“Yummi?” The voice was smooth, belonged to a female, and laced with attitude.
“Who’s this?”
“It’s Storm. I’m sure you don’t know me. I figured… since we shared the same man, we should talk, though.”
I almost laughed. “Girl, what? You talking about Hurricane? If so, I’m not talking about a dead man.”
Her soft, petty little laugh slid through the line like a knife.
“Nah, baby. I’m talking about Lameek.”
My stomach twisted, but I kept my voice steady.
“Oh... is that so?”
“Yeah. We had a little summer fling last year, and when he got shot, he stayed at my place in Colorado while he healed. I nursed him back to health and he let me suck his dick, knowing he was engaged to you. I’m the one who took care of him, not you. Just thought you should know… in case you thought he was only yours at that time.”
I smirked, shaking my head. “Okay? What else?”
“And since he wanna play with me, I slashed his tires, and I’ma fuck his opp.”
“Girl… unless you’re pregnant or still fucking him, I don’t care about your feelings. Don’t call my phone again.”
Before she could say anything else, I hung up.
I took a deep breath, adjusted the radio, and refused to let her energy stick to me.
“Gotta remind your daddy to check his hoes,” I muttered, glancing at my son in the mirror as he drifted off to sleep.
By the time I pulled into the Beverly Center, I was calm again. I parked, grabbed the stroller out of the trunk, and clipped Coast into it. His little eyes blinked open, and I handed him a pacifier before rolling us into the mall like I wasn’t carrying the weight of the world on my back.
I hit Gucci first, grabbing a new dress for myself and a couple of things for the baby; felt good to flex a little. My phone buzzed again while I was at the register, and it was Mula.
I answered, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder as I tapped my card.
“What’s up?”
