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It took us three trips to get everything inside.

Gift bags covered my dining-room table. Boxes were stacked against the wall. A stroller somebody bought me was still in the box by the stairs. Diapers. Wipes. Clothes. Bottles. Shit I didn’t even know babies needed.

By the time we finished, I changed into an oversized T-shirt, wrapped my hair up and came back downstairs barefoot.

Destiny was already sitting on my living-room floor going through bags.

“Somebody got you another bottle warmer.”

“That’s three.”

I dropped onto my couch and put my swollen feet up.

My house looked exactly like me.

Feminine.

Expensive without looking like I walked through a furniture store and bought every shiny thing I saw.

And my closet upstairs?

That was where the real money was.

Chanel.

Louis.

Prada.

Gucci.

Shoes I had no business buying.

Bags I absolutely had business buying.

I liked nice shit.

Always had.

Before Xavier, I fucked with niggas who had money.

Ballplayers.

Promoters.

Drug dealers with actual money, not niggas standing outside the store splitting a twenty.

Businessmen.

Married men.

Men who understood that being around me cost.

Even now I had regulars from Freckles asking Kiana when I was coming back.

Carlos’s fine Spanish ass had been texting me my entire pregnancy talking about how Collin should’ve been his.

And somehow, out of all the men I could’ve chosen, I fell in love with my fucking cousin’s husband.