Page 569

Little backyard.

Washer and dryer right downstairs instead of me having to drag four kids’ clothes around.

Two and a half bathrooms, which meant I no longer had to threaten somebody’s life because they were sitting on the toilet watching YouTube while I had to pee.

Zion had his own room.

Amari had hers.

Michael had his.

Serenity was still in the crib in my bedroom because she was too little for me to put her across the hall by herself.

Eventually, she’d get her own space.

For now, her little ass was staying where I could see her.

There were still boxes in my bedroom I hadn’t unpacked.

Probably wasn’t going to either.

Half that shit came from the old apartment, and every time I opened one, it felt like I was unpacking a marriage instead of clothes.

I stayed there almost three months after Xay died.

At first, moving wasn’t even on my mind.

I had a funeral to get through.

Four children grieving in four completely different ways.

Police calling.

Family calling.

Paperwork.

Work.

Life insurance.

Social Security.

His job.

His retirement account.

Everything that came with somebody dying while still legally married to you because divorce never happened.

Death beat us to it.

That was still a fucked-up thing to think.

But it was true.

And because Xay had never changed any of his paperwork, I was still listed as beneficiary on the life insurance through his job and his retirement account.

Between that and the survivor benefits for the kids, I could breathe.