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I could understand doing what I did if my wife ain’t do shit.

If she was lazy.

Didn’t cook.

Didn’t clean.

Didn’t take care of the kids.

Didn’t work.

Didn’t fuck with me.

Didn’t love me.

Something.

But Sam did all that shit.

She worked them long-ass shifts at Beth Israel and still came home worried about everybody else.

Still packed my lunch.

Still made sure I had clean work clothes.

Still wanted to fuck me after four kids and nine years together.

Sam was my wife.

That was different.

Avery and Heather?

Them was just freak-ass bitches I needed on the side.

That was the easiest way I knew how to explain it.

I ain’t expect Sam to suck my dick crazy.

Didn’t expect her to let me hit it every fucking way.

She was never really like that.

She was my wife.

She was⁠—

A shiny black Bentley rolled slowly past the fencing around the site.

My eyes followed it.

“The fuck?”

It stopped.

There was only one nigga I knew personally driving around in one of those.

“Shit.”