Fatima's POV
Milan coming to my house is one thing, he's always welcome but to bring an uninvited guest is another thing.
What made it worse, what really got under my skin was how Sabrina came in this house like it wasn't strange.
Like we were still cool.
Like we were still friends.
She looked around like she was revisiting a familiar memory, smiling like nothing ever happened.
Like she hadn't been dragging my name through the dirt.
Like she hadn't gone on Instagram painting me out to be someone I'm not
"Oh wow, y'all redecorated?" she said, glancing around the living room like she hadn't been here since before everything flipped upside down. "That mirror wasn't here last time, right? It looks good. Real good."
I stood there watching her like there were cameras and this was some sick prank
"Last time you were here, we were still pretending I was just your daughter's godmother," I said, voice flat.
She laughed, like I was being dramatic. "Girl, you still are, aren't you?"
I blinked slow.
Zac coughed into his fist.
Milan muttered, "Whew, Lord..." under his breath.
"I'm her mother in this house," I replied calmly. "On the days you forget to show up, I don't. And I stopped being your 'girl' the moment you started using my name as a buffer between you and your bad decisions."
She had the nerve to look offended, like I'd hurt her feelings.
"I didn't come here for all this. I just wanted to have a conversation—woman to woman. You know... like we used to."
That's when I realized what this was.
She wanted nostalgia.
She wanted the version of me who let things slide.
The version who made space for her chaos.
The version who let her call me in the middle of the night crying about things she wanted to fix.
That version of me?
She didn't live here anymore.
So I folded my arms, leaned against the doorframe, and looked her dead in the face.
"You don't get to show up in this home and act like time didn't pass and things didn't change. We're not those girls anymore.
Sabrina opened her mouth to say something but Zac stepped in.
"You need to go," he said, firm. "This ain't your stage, Sabrina. And this definitely ain't your audience."
Her lips tightened, and for a second, I thought she might actually argue. But she didn't. She just scoffed, flipped her hair, and walked out like she didn't just get reminded who the real woman in this house is.
Milan lingered in the entryway, hand on the doorknob, eyes wide.
"I'm... gonna call y'all tomorrow," he mumbled. "Love you, sis."
I nodded, too drained to respond.
Zac closed the door behind him and turned back to me, rubbing the tension from my shoulders.
"I'm exhausted," I whispered, leaning into him. "But I meant every word."
He kissed my forehead. "She needed to hear it."
And maybe she did.
Or maybe she'd pretend she didn't.
Either way, she wasn't walking in here again like we were something we weren't.
And she wasn't gonna keep rewriting history to fit her comfort.
