𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝟏𝟔: 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤

I sat in Blue’s room, my head resting against the wall as she twirled around in another dress her dad had bought her. The smile on my face felt hollow, a distraction from the thoughts spinning in my mind. It’s not like I didn’t see this coming. Onika was a lot of things—bold, wild, unapologetic—but she was also young, and maybe the whole "I have a kid" thing scared her more than she let on.

She didn’t even stay for breakfast. It was Saturday, for God’s sake. “I have work,” she’d said, but I knew that was a lie. I’d heard her excuses before, but I didn’t call her out on it. I just watched her leave, knowing she wouldn’t come back anytime soon.

"Beyoncé! Mommy, are you watching?" Blue’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. She was posing dramatically in a pink sundress, her little arms extended as if she was on a runway.

I plastered a smile on my face. "You look amazing, baby! That dress is beautiful, just like you."

Blue beamed, doing another spin. "Daddy got me this one too. And guess what, Mommy? He said I get to stay with you the whole week!" Her voice was full of excitement, but I caught the slight hesitation in her eyes. She wasn’t used to spending so much time away from Jay.

"Is that so?" I raised an eyebrow, already knowing the answer. "Did Daddy say anything else when he dropped you off?"

Blue paused, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. "He said he has an important meeting. He didn’t want to leave me with Angel, so he brought me here. He said you’d kill him if he didn’t." She giggled, and I couldn’t help but laugh too.

"Well, he’s not wrong," I muttered, shaking my head. Jay knew better than to pawn Blue off on his whore wife. Angel was sweet, but she had no business watching over my daughter.

I glanced over at Blue, who was now sitting on her bed, looking up at me with her wide, curious eyes. "You okay, baby? You hungry? How about Mommy makes you something to eat?"

Blue scrunched her nose and gave me a look. "Mommy, you can’t cook," she said with the bluntness only a six-year-old could get away with.

I scoffed, feigning offense. "Excuse me? I can cook... sorta. But I was gonna ask Marisol to make it, anyway."

Blue giggled, crossing her arms like a little adult. "Then it doesn’t count, Mommy. You have to make it."

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "It does count because I’m the one giving the orders, and that’s what counts."

Blue looked at me with a serious expression. "But are you making it?" She tilted her head like she was interrogating me.

I groaned, defeated. "Do you want me to make it?"

She grinned, her little teeth showing. "Yes, Mommy. I mean, anyone can make something, right?"

"Right," I replied, though I had no idea where to even start. "Okay, fine. What do you want?"