taraji h.
i'm sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, palms pressed against my mouth.
i can still hear her voice.
"love you, little man. always."
God.
i should've just grabbed the milk and left. should've turned the corner, pretended i didn't see her, but the second bryce squealed her name, i knew there was no running.
she looked... healed.
not trying. not faking. just standing there in the middle of the produce aisle with that woman.. calm, confident, easy on her feet and that woman...
amina.
she had her hand on fantasia's back like she belonged there. like i never had. i clenched my fists. not because i was mad at them. not even mad at fantasia.
just... mad at myself. mad that i still feel anything at all.
i had years to love her right. to see her. really see her. and instead i held on too tight, bruised what i swore i'd protect. she flinched for so long i forgot what her strength looked like. now she's giving it to someone else. openly.
and bryce...
reaching for her. laughing. then handing his toy to amina like it was nothing. like he knew her. trusted her.
like some part of him felt the safety i never gave his mommy.
i wipe my face. not crying. just clearing space.
she said maybe he recognizes softness. maybe he does.
maybe that's what scared me the most, because no matter how much ive grown, how much beyoncé holds me down now, there's a part of me that still remember the way fantasia used to look at me.
like i was the sky. like i was worth choosing, even when i didn't know how to be good.
and now? now she looks at me like i'm just someone she used to survive and i can't even be mad at that.
i just sit there.
silent. guilt thick in my throat and all i can think is...
what the hell do you do when the person you broke
learns how to glow without you?
***
i walk back to the kitchen because i can't sit still.
the glass of water from earlier is still on the counter, sweating like it's nervous too. i stare at it, then walk past it. open the fridge. close it. no reason. just needing to move.
her voice keeps echoing.
"maybe he recognizes softness."
i chew on the inside of my cheek. i lean against the counter and close my eyes. i hate how clear it all is now— how easy it is to see the girl i was.
controlling. scared. full of anger i hadn't named yet. i used to tell myself love was enough. that if i showed up, paid the bills, kissed her neck at night that it made up for everything else but love without gentleness isn't love.
it's a storm with no shelter and i was all thunder.
i swallow hard and glance at the clock. 9:42.
bryce is probably dreaming. maybe he'll forget today. maybe he won't remember the way his other mama smiled a little too sadly before she walked away.
but me? i'll remember— the way fantasia stood taller than i've ever seen her. the way she didn't rush. didn't fold. didn't dim herself to make the moment easier for me. she didn't even flinch when i looked at her.
she used to flinch.
i press the heel of my hand to my chest, right over the spot that won't stop aching. amina had her. gently. like someone who knew the value of a woman who survived and fantasia let her. no hesitation.
and that? that's what kills me the most because i know how hard she fought to believe she deserved that kind of love and i wasn't the one who helped her find it.
i helped her need it. i hurt the woman who gave me a son. i left her to pick up the pieces, and now she's standing whole in front of me — not just healed, but held.
and i can't lie to myself— i miss her. not the chaos. not the guilt but the softness i never earned back. i miss being hers even if i'm not supposed to say it.
even if i'm wrapped in a life with someone who's never done me wrong.
i hear bey's footsteps upstairs. soft, light, humming something under her breath.
i don't want her to come down—not yet. i'm not ready for her to see this part of me. the part still tethered to a ghost i created.
so i stay here, quiet, face turned toward the lemons on the counter that i never even needed and i bite my tongue because if i open my mouth, i might finally admit i'm still in love with the woman who learned how to stop loving me.
