My relationship with Raf has shifted into something new, something unnamed but undeniably real.
We haven’t said the words. We haven’t drawn lines or erased the old ones.
But he reaches for me in his sleep now, pulls me closer without thinking.
He kisses my temple when he passes me in the hallway. He looks at me like I’m something he’s quietly decided to keep.
And God help me, I want to keep him too.
Riley stands on the living room rug, crayons scattered everywhere, entirely forgotten, tongue caught between her teeth as she concentrates. Raf sits cross-legged beside her, suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, letting her braid one section of his hair with intense seriousness.
“You’re doing great,” he tells her solemnly.
“I know,” she says, nodding. “I’m very good at this.”
I watch from the doorway, hand pressed to my lips like I might burst with love or laughter at any moment. This is what it could look like.
The thought scares me enough that I almost retreat, almost shut the door on the idea before it roots too deeply.
But then Raf looks up and catches me watching, his mouth tilting into that half-smile that feels like it’s just for me.
“Come here,” he says.
I cross the room on unsteady legs and sit beside them. Riley leans against me automatically, warm and solid and real.
This is my life. And it’s built on a lie.
The doubt creeps in during quiet moments, insidious and sharp. When Riley laughs a little too much like me, when Raf praises her stubborn streak. When his hand rests on her back with unconscious protectiveness.
He doesn’t know.
Only my parents, my brothers, and I do—the people who helped me survive the fallout.
The people who agreed, without question, that Riley would be safer this way.
That the truth would only complicate things. That Raf had already walked away and left me with the pieces.
What if telling him destroys everything?
The question coils tightly in my chest, refusing to loosen. I don’t care about my reputation anymore.
I don’t care how the truth might impact me. But I do care how it might hurt my family. Hurt Riley. And she’s all that matters.
I want her to live a full, happy life—without the stigma that would come from being born out of wedlock.
And I just can’t risk that over the hope that Raf and Imighthave something real. I need to be certain.
That night, after Riley is asleep and the house is quiet, Raf and I are drawn back to each other with a pull that feels as inevitable as gravity.
The intimacy between us has softened, deepened.
It’s less frantic now, more certain. He touches me like he’s learning me all over again, and maybe he is. Maybe we both are.
And every time he does, it makes me crave him more.
There might be less urgency in the connection.
We might take our time, teasing each other into a frenzy, relishing every touch, but it’s no less electric.
