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“I think she hungry.”

Then this nigga held her out to me.

I looked at him.

Then the baby.

Then him again.

“Nigga, you see me getting dressed.”

“She hungry.”

“And?”

He stared at me.

“There’s pumped milk in the fridge.”

“Sam—”

“Warm it up.”

He looked at Serenity like I had just handed him a fucking calculus problem.

“How much?”

“Four ounces. Same amount she been drinking.”

“How long I warm it?”

I slowly turned my head.

“Xavier.”

“What?”

“She is four months old. You are her father.”

“I’m asking you a question.”

“And I’m telling you to figure that shit out.”

His eyebrows went up.

I grabbed my little black bag off the dresser.

Tonight?

I did not give a fuck.

I loved my babies more than anything walking this earth.

But I wasn’t Mommy tonight.

Not until I came back through this door.

I wanted to put on something short as fuck and have somebody look at me long enough that I remembered I was still that bitch.