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This book contains mature themes, explicit language, and scenes of a sexual nature intended for adult audiences only. It is rated R and is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.
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This book also includes depictions o...
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Onika Maraj Manhattan High School
August 9, 2025
I sit beside her bed, the steady beeping of the machines the only sound filling the room. The ventilator hisses softly, breathing for her, a cruel reminder that she can't do it on her own.
I can't stop staring at her face, peaceful yet so distant. I reach out and take her hand, squeezing it gently, as if somehow my touch might bring her back to me.
I wish it could.
"The babies are coming soon, Bey," I whisper, my voice trembling. "I know you'd want to be here, to hold them first, to see their faces. Blue and I... we've been talking about names, you know?"
I laugh a little, but it's more of a sad chuckle, hollow in the sterile air. "She has so many ideas. But I can't settle on anything, not without you. Somehow... I'm still waiting for you to wake up and tell me what you think."
My thumb brushes over her knuckles as I fight the lump in my throat. Her skin is still so soft, still so warm, but she's so far away from me. I look at her face, so perfect, so beautiful.
I grab the damp cloth from the bedside table and gently wipe her forehead, brushing the strands of hair from her face.
"You're so pretty, baby," I say, my voice cracking now. "I miss you so much."
A tear slips down my cheek, and I don't even bother to wipe it away. "I'm so sorry this happened to you. You don't deserve this, none of it. I don't even know how we ended up here."
My chest tightens, and for a second, I feel like I can't breathe either. I lean closer, resting my forehead against our joined hands, and whisper, "Please wake up, baby. Blue needs you. I need you. The babies need you."
But the machines keep breathing for her, the only response in the room.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts, and I glance up as it creaks open. A nurse steps in, offering a small smile.
She's wearing scrubs with bright patterns, trying to bring some warmth to the otherwise cold hospital room.
"Hey there, I'm Sarah," she says, her voice soft but upbeat. "Just here to check on Mrs. Knowles vitals and clean her wound real quick."
I nod, feeling the weight of her hand still in mine, but let go reluctantly. "Go ahead."
The nurse moves around the bed with practiced ease, checking the machines and jotting down numbers. I sit back, watching as she wraps the blood pressure cuff around Beyoncé's arm, the familiar routine now a part of my day.
The nurse carefully pulls back the blanket and begins unwrapping the gauze around Beyoncé's chest. As she peels away the layers, the gunshot wound comes into view, stitched but still raw.
