Zurianne never imagined that saving her mother's life would cost her own freedom. Forced into an arranged marriage with Christopher Whyte the infamous Jamaican Don feared by many,she braces herself for a life of cold stares and ruthless commands. Bu...
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The twins were laughing. Splashing. Kicking up so much water it soaked the towel on the floor. I didn't even mind.
Warm water ran from the faucet while bubbles clung to their soft brown skin. Their little voices bounced off the tiled walls, twin echoes in stereo.
"Yow," I said, chuckling. "Mi seh stop dash water pon each oddah—"
But before I could finish, one of them slapped the surface, sending water straight into my face.
I paused.
He froze.
Then burst out laughing like he knew exactly what he did.
I wiped my face with the towel and shook my head, smiling. "Unnu lucky seh mi just come outta lockup. Mi nuh have di strength fi argue."
Behind me, I heard the soft shuffle of feet.
Zuri stood at the bathroom door, arms folded, one shoulder leaning against the frame. She didn't speak. Just watched. Quiet.
I knew that look. Relief and love hidden behind pride.
"I can take one of them," she offered gently as I turned off the water and reached for the towels.
I nodded. "Yeah... Thanks ."
She stepped forward and scooped up Christian , who immediately settled into her arms.
I took Zavian, still kicking and grinning like he ruled the world and wrapped him in the towel, drying his tiny limbs.
Their bodies weren't as fragile anymore.
Back then, I held them like glass. Now... they were stronger. Sturdier. Christian already had two little front teeth peeking through his gums. Zavian too.
Mi babies a grow.
And I missed every second of it.
We carried them to the nursery where soft light glowed from the wall lamp. Stuffed animals lined the edge of the crib. On the mounted TV, soft baby cartoons played, colors flashing gently.
I sat with both of them on the thick playmat, letting them crawl and tumble across my lap, holding their small bodies close whenever they leaned in.
It didn't feel real.
I was free.
Home.
In my house.
With my sons.
Once they were dressed, we sat them up on the play mat in front the small TV in the corner. Their favorite cartoon was already playing bright colors, silly voices, something with jungle animals and way too much singing.
Zavian clapped. Christian pointed and giggled.
I leaned back against the wall and exhaled slowly, a weight leaving me that I didn't realize I'd been holding. For months, my hands were in fists. Tonight, they were holding sons. Sons who didn't cry when I touched them, who leaned into me like they knew I belonged.
