Page 3

“All of that for what?” I asked.

“To regain strength and mobility. In some cases, patients have to relearn certain movements like standing, balancing, and then ultimately… walking.”

I closed my eyes. Finally, shit was clicking in my brain. The doctor’s last words were what was getting to me. Walking. Malik might have to learn how to walk again.

My hand slid beneath my stomach as the weight of my baby suddenly felt heavier. I was nearing my last trimester. Our child will be here soon. Malik was supposed to be standing beside me when I gave birth. He was supposed to drive me crazy telling me what I could and couldn’t do once I got too big. He was supposed to complain about me trying to carry something that weighed more than five pounds and follow me around the house asking if I needed to sit down.

That was Malik. He was always taking care of everybody, always making sure his family was straight. Now somebody was going to have to take care of him. A sob escaped me before I could stop it. MJ immediately pulled me against his chest. I held onto my son and cried. I didn’t give a damn who was watching me. And I was grateful that Malik was alive, trust me, I was, but I was tired. I was tired of trying to be strong. I had been strong from the moment that phone rang. I had been strong while rushing to the hospital with my heart beating so hard I could barely breathe. I had been strong sitting in that waiting room, not knowing whether my husband was alive or dead. I didn’t have any strength left.

“I can’t lose him,” I cried against MJ’s chest.

“You’re not losing Pops.”

MJ held me tighter.

“He made it through surgery, Ma. You heard him. Pops is still here.”

I nodded against his chest. He was right. Malik was still here. I had to keep reminding myself of that. But I knew my husband, and mentally I didn’t want to lose him either. This was about to be one of the toughest battles that he had to deal with. I had to prepare my damn self to be ready to be there for him mentally. I slowly pulled away from MJ and wiped under my eyes.

“When can I see him?” I asked the doctor once I got it together.

“Once he’s settled in recovery, a nurse will come get you.”

“I want to be there when he wakes up.”

“We’ll do our best to make that happen,” he said reassuringly.

“No.” I looked directly at the doctor. “I need to be there.”

He studied me for a moment before nodding.

“I’ll let his care team know,” he said with a nod.

“Thank you.”

The doctor gave us a few more instructions before excusing himself. The second he walked away, everybody surrounded me. Questions came from every direction. Was Malik okay? What did the doctor say? When could we see him? I couldn’t answer any of them. I needed air. I needed space. More than anything, I needed my husband. I stepped away from everybody and lowered myself into the chair I had been sitting in before the doctor came through those doors. My body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. For a few seconds, I simply stared at the floor. Then a pair of sneakers appeared in front of me. I already knew who they belonged to before I looked up. The blood splatter across the top of them gave it away.

When I looked up, I made eye contact with the little version of us. Maliah was, in every shape and form, the perfect mixture of us both. Our firstborn had witnessed some crazy shit. My eyes grew with sadness just looking at her. Her face was swollen from crying. There were spots of dried blood on her clothes that I tried my hardest not to look at because I knew whose blood it was. She stood there staring at me like she wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out how.

“Mama…”

That one word broke whatever little piece of my heart that was still holding together. I reached for her. She immediately dropped down in front of me and wrapped her arms around my waist.

“I’m sorry,” she cried.

“For what?” I frowned.

“I’m sorry.”

“Maliah, look at me.”

She shook her head against me. So, I grabbed her face and gently forced her to look up.

“For what?” I asked sternly.

“He got shot because of me,” she whispered as her bottom lip trembled.

I could feel my chest tighten at how broken my baby sounded.