Look, I know girls love Beyoncé.
Girls love to fuck with your conscience.
Girls hate when n*ggas go missing.
And shawty, you ain't no different.
Onika (G!P)
Completed.
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THIRD POINT OF VIEW
The Houston air hit different.
Beyoncé leaned her forehead against the Uber window, watching familiar streets pass by like memories she hadn't realized she missed.
Streetlights flickered overhead, and the soft hum of the engine was the only thing grounding her. OJ, her little puppy, laid curled up in her lap, sensing her sadness and pressing closer with each mile.
When the car finally slowed in front of her childhood home, Beyoncé sat up a little straighter. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the door handle.
She didn't even have to knock her mama must've seen the headlights through the window.
The door flew open.
"Mama..." Beyoncé whispered.
"Oh, baby," Mama Tina breathed out, rushing down the porch steps with open arms.
Beyoncé didn't make it halfway up before she broke. She collapsed against her mother's chest, shoulders heaving, sobs breaking through like they'd been trapped in her lungs for days.
Tina didn't ask any questions. She just held her. Arms wrapped around her baby girl like she was trying to hold together every piece that had been shattered.
"I'm so sorry," Beyoncé cried. "I'm so, so sorry."
Tina stroked her hair, whispering, "You're home now. That's all that matters."
OJ barked softly at their feet, circling them before standing guard beside Tina's legs.
They made it inside, the familiar smell of lavender and lemon cleaner wrapping around Beyoncé like another layer of safety.
Everything was exactly how she remembered it. Family photos on the wall, soft gospel humming from a speaker in the kitchen, a throw blanket folded on the couch with her initials stitched in.
Tina led her to the couch, pulled her down beside her, and didn't let go.
"I should've listened," Beyoncé finally said. Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
"When you told me not to go. When you said she wasn't right."
Tina looked at her, concerned but patient. "You were in love."
"I was blinded," she corrected, biting her bottom lip.
"By the way she touched me. The way she made me feel. Like I was the only one. But Mama... she wasn't soft. She wasn't safe. She wasn't anything she said she was."
Tina pressed a hand to her daughter's cheek. "You don't have to explain. I know. I saw it."
"I just—I fought with you. I talked back. And I shouldn't have." Beyoncé's eyes welled up again.
"You were just tryna protect me."
"Every mama wants to protect their baby," Tina said gently.
"Even when that baby swears she grown."
That made Beyoncé smile through her tears.
They sat there for a while. No words. Just breathing in the quiet and letting the weight of everything finally fall off Beyoncé's shoulders. She didn't realize how heavy it had been until she laid it down.
Upstairs, light footsteps padded across the floor before coming down the stairs. Then a familiar voice floated into the room.
"Bee?"
Beyoncé looked up just as her little sister rounded the corner, still in pajama shorts and a bonnet, blinking sleep from her eyes.
"Solange..."
Solange's face lit up when she saw her big sister on the couch—but her excitement paused when she noticed her tear-streaked cheeks.
"You okay?"
Beyoncé tried to nod, but OJ jumped off the couch and ran straight to Solange, tail wagging. The moment she bent down to scoop him up, the puppy licked her all over and started wagging his tail harder than ever.
"Well, look who's back!" Solange laughed, holding him up to her cheek.
"OJ missed me, huh?"
Beyoncé smiled softly. "He's been through a lot too."
Solange sat on the floor, playing with the puppy, letting him climb up her leg while she giggled. "So what happened?" she asked without looking up.
"Where's Onika?"
Silence dropped into the room like a cold wind.
Tina glanced at her daughter.
Beyoncé took a shaky breath. "I... I'll tell you one day."
Solange blinked, then nodded like she understood more than she let on. "Okay."
She didn't ask again. She just kept playing with OJ, holding him close and whispering little things in his floppy ears like he was her secret-keeper now.
Beyoncé leaned back against the couch, head on her mother's shoulder, eyes staring at the ceiling. The weight of New York, of the yelling and broken glass and gunmetal tension, slowly started melting off her. Not gone... but lighter.
She was home.
And even though everything still hurt—at least she had this.
