Requiem for a Broken Dream.

[Caesar]

He stumbled back to his car, fumbling with the keys as he tried to unlock the door. Once inside, Kam slumped against the steering wheel, his body shaking. He was supposed to be on his way to Tampa, turning down Mark’s offer to buy him a flight for the sole reason of being able to drive down with the gun. Now he’d have twelve hours to think about his mistake and perhaps the rest of his life in a jail cell.

Kam on the 6 p.m. news.

[Soapy]

Season 7, Episode 8
Kam stood in the cramped living room of his father's new house, the walls seeming to close in around him with each passing second. The place was a definite step up from Kwame's old apartment - freshly painted walls, gleaming hardwood floors, even a small backyard visible through the sliding glass door. But right now, it felt suffocating.

Taylour bustled past, balancing a laundry basket on her hip while simultaneously trying to soothe Manu, who was wailing at an ear-piercing pitch. The toddler's face was turning red, tears and snot mingling as he reached desperately for his mother. Kam winced, his temples throbbing in time with Manu's cries.

"Shhh, baby, it's okay," Taylour cooed, but her voice held an edge of exhaustion that made Kam's chest tighten with guilt. He should offer to help, to take Manu for a bit or at least fold some laundry. But the noise, the clutter, the constant motion - it was all too much.

Kwame emerged from the kitchen, a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and a pile of envelopes in the other. His eyes met Kam's, a flicker of concern passing between them. "You worked out today?" he asked, having to raise his voice to be heard over Manu's continued screams.

Kam nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His fingers closed around his car keys, the metal cool and solid against his palm. An anchor in the chaos. He needed to get out, to breathe, to think.

Without a word, he strode towards the front door, sidestepping the maze of toys that scattered on the floor.

"Kam?" Kwame called after him, but Kam was already turning the doorknob, stepping out onto the small concrete stoop. The evening air hit him like a wave, crisp and clean compared to the stuffy interior of the house. He took a deep breath, his lungs expanding gratefully. He had been idle for too long, it was time to get active.

…

Kam's feet carried him down familiar streets, muscle memory guiding him through the darkly lit night. He found himself outside Player's Club, the pulsing bass a siren call that drowned out the echoes of Manu's cries. Inside, the air was thick with perfume and desperation, but it was a different kind of suffocating than his father's house.

Andre and Aaron materialized out of the smoky haze, grins wide and eyes glazed. They embraced Kam with the exuberance of the slightly drunk, their enthusiasm momentarily pushing aside the weight that had settled on his shoulders.

"Man, I never thought you’d be back here with us," Andre shouted over the music, clapping Kam on the back. "The Bay treating you good?”

Kam shrugged, not wanting to dive into the complexities of his situation. "I can’t complain.”

Aaron nodded sagely, though Kam doubted he truly understood. They made their way to the bar, weaving through the crowd. Kam's eyes skimmed over the dancers on stage, their movements a hypnotic blur of glitter and skin. He ordered a beer, needing something to occupy his hands as he tried to ride the buzz he had acquired.

As he waited, a familiar laugh cut through the noise. Kam turned, his gaze landing on a woman a few seats down. Her hair was different - shorter, streaked with red - but there was something about the curve of her smile that tugged at his memory.

She caught him staring and raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a smirk. "You’ve been helped, haven’t you?”

Kam felt heat creep up his neck. "Yeah, yeah, thanks.”

The woman's smirk widened. "Wow, I guess I wasn’t that memorable.”

He squinted, trying to place her. "Ravie? Holy shit, I didn't even recognize you!"

Ravie laughed, the sound rich and warm. "I'll take that as a compliment. I guess the name doesn’t make a whole lot of sense anymore, right?" She gestured to the empty seat in front of her. "I was wondering if you’d remember me when I saw you walk in."

Kam glanced back at Andre and Aaron, who were already engrossed in conversation with a pair of dancers. He turned back to Ravie, taking in the mischievous glint in her eye. For the first time that night, he felt the knot in his chest begin to loosen.

"I like the hair change though," he said, sliding onto the barstool. "And you were definitely memorable, I’ve just taken a few hits to the head.”

…

The night air was cool on Kam's skin as he leaned back against the concrete barrier of the parking garage roof. The city stretched out before them, a glittering tapestry of lights and shadows. Ravie sat cross-legged beside him while Sandra sprawled on her stomach, bare feet kicking lazily in the air as she took another swig from the bottle of tequila they'd been passing around.

"Remember that time Marcus tried to do a backflip into the pool?" Sandra giggled, her words slightly slurred. "It wasn’t bad enough that we snuck into them people’s pool at that hotel, he had to do some extra shit."

Kam snorted, the memory vivid in his mind. "I don’t know why we let his fat ass try to do that shit, damn near broke his neck."

Ravie threw her head back, laughter bubbling up from her chest. "Oh my god, yes! He kept trying to play it cool, but you could tell that shit hurt."

The tequila burned pleasantly in Kam's throat as he took his turn with the bottle. The tension that had been coiled tight in his muscles all day was finally starting to unwind. Up here, with the wind at his back and the city spread out below, his current situation felt like a distant memory.

"You couldn’t tell him shit," Sandra mused, her smile softening with a hint of melancholy. "The only thing I talked him out of was getting that bike.”

Kam winced, phantom pain shooting through his elbow at the memory. "He never told you? Man, Johnny and them went down to some fucking bike shop down 301 and robbed those people blind."

Ravie leaned in, her eyes bright with curiosity. "I don't think I ever heard that story. What happened?"

As Kam launched into the tale, complete with animated gestures and Marcus's typical bravado-filled quotes, he felt a warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol. For the first time in years, he was talking about Marcus without that sharp stab of grief. The stories flowed freely, each one sparking another memory, another burst of laughter.

Sandra chimed in with her own anecdotes, filling in the gaps of Marcus's life that Kam had never heard about. She described Marcus's failed attempts at cooking her romantic dinners, the way he'd sing off-key in the shower every morning, his tendency to leave half-empty cups of coffee scattered around the apartment. He felt like he had known Marcus for a lifetime but it was only a few months, their time together ending as abruptly as it began.

As the night wore on, their laughter echoed across the empty parking lot. Kam found himself studying Sandra's face in the dim light, noting the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, the slight tremor in her hands as she gestured. He wondered if she felt it too - that dull pain and sadness that never went away.

The sky began to lighten, a faint pink glow creeping over the horizon. Kam's eyes felt heavy, his limbs loose from the alcohol and the late hour. He watched as Sandra pulled out her phone, squinting at the bright screen.

"Shit," she muttered, her fingers flying over the keys. "Malik's been blowing up my phone. He's on his way."

Within minutes, the purr of an engine cut through the pre-dawn stillness. The blue Ford Escape pulled into the lot, its tinted windows gleaming in the dim light. Kam straightened, his muscles tightening as he watched Sandra gather her things.

"You know how Malik is," she said, her voice tinged with reluctance. "It was good seeing you, Kam, don’t be a stranger now."

Kam nodded, exchanging a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He watched as Sandra made her way to the car, her steps slightly unsteady. The passenger window rolled down, revealing a man with wicks and a hard set to his jaw. Malik's eyes locked onto Kam, narrowing slightly as he took in the scene.

The air crackled with unspoken hostility. Kam felt his fists clench involuntarily, his body tensing for a confrontation that never came. Malik's gaze swept over him once more, dismissive and cold, before the window rolled back up. The car peeled out of the lot, leaving the acrid smell of burning rubber in its wake.

Kam let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The weight of the night, of all the memories dredged up, settled heavily on his shoulders. He turned to find Ravie watching him, her expression a mix of concern and something else he couldn't quite name.

"You okay?" she asked softly, reaching out to touch his arm, “We could head over to my apartment, if you want.”

The gentle contact sent a jolt through him, awakening feelings he'd thought long buried. For a moment, he let himself imagine following her home, losing himself in the comfort of her touch, in the familiarity of their shared past.

But then Yassy's face flashed in his mind.

"Yeah, I'm good," he said, offering Ravie a small smile. "I don’t think my girl would appreciate that.”

Ravie's eyebrows shot up, a grin spreading across her face. "Your girl? Kam, you've been holding out on me! Tell me about her."

Kam laughed, unable to hide his blush, “She’s…great, man. I don’t really know what to say, we’ve been rocking for a while now.”

“You really don’t know how glad I am to hear that,” she tilted her head, the smile still persistent on her face, “You’re one of the good guys, Kam, you need to remember that.”

[djp73]

he got her fooled!

[Caesar]

Now he wants to be faithful when Yassy know he shot that boy. Better marry her so she can’t talk on the stand.

[Soapy]

he got her fooled!

you too bro?

Now he wants to be faithful when Yassy know he shot that boy. Better marry her so she can’t talk on the stand.

:smart:

[Soapy]

Season 7, Episode 9
The rhythmic thud of fists against leather echoed through the gym, a symphony of sweat and determination. Kam stood in front of a worn punching bag, his shoulders taut as he delivered a series of quick jabs followed by a thundering right hand and a check hook on the retreat. The familiar scent of old equipment and fresh perspiration filled his nostrils, grounding him in the present moment.

Kwame circled his son, his keen eyes tracking every movement. "Keep your guard up, son," he instructed, his voice a low rumble that barely carried over the ambient noise of the gym. "You're dropping your left hand after each combination."

Kam nodded, readjusting his stance. He'd been here every day since returning home, the gym becoming a sanctuary as he waited for news from Mark. The uncertainty of his future hung over him like a storm cloud, but here, in this space, he could focus solely on the task at hand.

His fists connected with the bag again, the impact reverberating up his arms. Kam relished the burn in his muscles, the way his body moved with practiced precision. It was so different from the football field, yet oddly familiar – the discipline, the repetition, the constant push for improvement.

As he worked, Kam's mind drifted to the phone call he was waiting for. But days had turned into weeks, and still, no word. The waiting was the hardest part, harder even than the grueling workouts his father put him through.

Kwame's hand on his shoulder pulled Kam back to reality. "I might have someone for you today," his father said, offering a water bottle. Kam accepted it gratefully, gulping down the cool liquid as he leaned against the ropes of the nearby ring.

“Don’t set me up like last time,” Kam shook his head, memories of the beating that the newly turned pro boxer put on him still fresh in his mind.

His eyes wandered around the gym, taking in the faded posters of fight cards, the duct-taped equipment, and the determined faces of the other patrons. This place held so many memories – many afternoons spent that summer watching his father train fighters, of his own clumsy reintroduction to boxing. He’d been here before, waiting on Boston College to pull the trigger or for the Ball State situation to materialize. Those memories eased his angst as he waited for that phone to ring.

…

Marlon sat rigid in the metal chair, his lawyer's reassuring presence beside him doing little to ease the tension coiled in his muscles. Detective Alderman leaned forward, his weathered face etched with lines of fatigue and frustration.

"I just want to be sure we have this right, Mr. Turner," Alderman said, his voice carrying a hint of exasperation. "You didn’t catch a glimpse? Maybe saw something out the corner of your eye?"

Marlon took a deep breath, willing his voice to remain steady. "Like I told you before, Detective. I was trying to break up the fight. It was chaos. People shoving, yelling. Then the shots rang out, and Kam pulled me out."

His mind flashed back to that night - the pulsing music from the club, the acrid smell of spilled beer and sweat, the sudden eruption of violence. He could still feel the phantom ache in his ribs where someone had elbowed him as he'd tried to come between Kam and Kyrie’s guys.

"Are you sure Kam didn’t have something in his hand when you guys got back to his car?" Alderman pressed, his pen tapping an impatient rhythm on his notepad, “Before you answer, keep in mind, we have video of this.”

Marlon's lawyer, Ms. Patel, interjected smoothly. "My client has been consistent in his statement, Detective. He was focused on breaking up the altercation when the shooting occurred."

Marlon's heart raced as he looked between Detective Alderman and Ms. Patel. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, each second stretching into an eternity. He could feel beads of sweat forming on his brow, threatening to trickle down his face.

The image of Kam's worried face as he pushed him out of the club that night flashed through Marlon's mind. He couldn't let Kam take the fall for this, even if he had known Kyrie for years.

Taking a deep breath, Marlon straightened in his chair. His voice came out stronger than he expected, filled with a determination he didn't know he possessed. "You know what, man…”

Alderman's eyebrows rose, his pen poised over the notepad. Ms. Patel shifted beside him, but Marlon pressed on before she could interject.

"I got love for Kyrie," Marlon began, his words tumbling out faster now. "But that night, he was the one who had an issue with Kam. Not the other way around, Kam had squashed that shit."

The detective leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.

Marlon's palms were sweaty now, but he clenched his fists, grounding himself. "When the shooting started, Kam was pushing me out of the club. I mean, really pushing. I'm not a small guy, Detective. I'm over 300 pounds, and Kam was still pushing me out of there.”

He paused, meeting Alderman's gaze directly. "There's no way Kam could have been pushing me and firing a gun at the same time. It's just not possible. Like you said, y’all got the video and he not locked up right now so I don’t know what it is you’re trying to do but it ain’t going to work because it’s not true."

Detective Alderman's pen scratched across the paper, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room. When he looked up, his expression was unreadable. "With all due respect, son, you’re not an expert in this field. There’s no way to conclude definitively that just because Kam was pushing you, according to you, he couldn’t have fired that gun.”

Marlon swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his next words. "With all due respect, Detective, you wasn’t fucking there and I was. And I can tell you, definitively, Kam ain’t shoot no fucking gun.”

…

"Merry Christmas, baby!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Merry Christmas, Yass," Kam replied, unable to keep the grin off his face. Despite the distance between them, her presence, even through a screen, filled him with warmth, “Still crazy y’all celebrate that.”

“Don’t ruin the moment,” she shot him a look, barely able to hold back her laugh.

Yassy adjusted her camera, revealing her cozy childhood bedroom back home in Indianapolis.

"You got your gift?" Yassy asked, holding up a brightly wrapped package.

Kam nodded, reaching for the box that had arrived yesterday. He'd resisted the urge to peek, wanting to share this moment with her. "Come on with it," he insisted.

Yassy tore into the wrapping paper with childlike enthusiasm. Her gasp of delight as she revealed the contents made Kam's chest swell with pride.

"Oh, Kam," she breathed, holding up the delicate gold necklace. A small pendant with the shape of a heart hung from the chain, catching the light. "It's beautiful."

Kam watched as she fastened it around her neck, the pendant nestling in the hollow of her throat. "I had it custom made," he explained. "Look closer at the heart."

Yassy peered at the pendant, her eyes widening. "Are those... our initials?"

Kam nodded, feeling a flush of pleasure at her reaction. "K and Y, like the jelly, baby.”

She rolled her eyes in a teasing manner, “You really know how to ruin a moment.”

"Your turn," she urged, practically bouncing with anticipation.

Kam carefully unwrapped his gift, savoring the moment. Inside the box, nestled in tissue paper, was a leather-bound journal. The cover was embossed with his name and the year.

"Open it," Yassy prompted.

Kam flipped open the journal, his breath catching as he saw the first page. It was filled with Yassy's neat handwriting, a letter addressed to him.

"I wrote you a letter for every day we'll be apart," Yassy explained, her voice soft. "Some are memories, some are just my thoughts. I wanted you to have a piece of me with you, even when we can't be together."

Kam ran his fingers over the pages, overwhelmed by the attention to detail, the carefully manicured word that filled every page.

[Caesar]

It’s funny because he gonna need KY and them letters when Fleece Johnson come into his cell at night.

[Captain Canada]

Damn, he'll have a good time reading that under 24-hour lockup

[Soapy]

It’s funny because he gonna need KY and them letters when Fleece Johnson come into his cell at night.

what you tryna say, Kam a first round pick in there?

Damn, he'll have a good time reading that under 24-hour lockup

bro?

[Soapy]

Season 7, Episode 10
"Dave, thanks for meeting me," Mark said, sliding into the leather booth.

Portnoy's eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "So, you're the guy who's got everyone buzzing about this kid. Let's hear it."

As Mark laid out his pitch, the restaurant's ambient noise faded away. He spoke of Kam's raw talent, his potential to help Michigan's program, and more importantly, his pending legal case. Portnoy listened intently, occasionally nodding or arching an eyebrow.

When Mark finished, silence hung between them for a long moment. Then Portnoy leaned forward, his voice low. "Like I told you before, I'm in. Half a mil upfront, with bonuses that could push it to a that million that you guys want…if he brings home the Heisman and a national title."

Mark's pulse quickened. This was it - the deal that could change everything. "Now, we can’t directly tie those bonuses to on-field performance but there are ways around that, certain date specific deliverables that are only going to happen if certain criteria are met.”

Portnoy nodded, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Listen, this is much bigger than just winning football games." He paused, drumming his fingers on the table. "I'm not just looking at this as a sponsorship deal. I see potential here. Big potential."

Mark leaned in, intrigued. "That’s what we’re looking for, that’s what Kam is looking for.”

"Barstool's been trying to expand our reach for years now. We've got the college crowd locked down, sure, but we're still seen as this white, frat boy brand. And that's limiting us." Portnoy's eyes lit up with excitement. "But Kam? He could be a game-changer for us."

The restaurant's dim lighting seemed to fade further as Portnoy painted his vision. "Guys like Kam, they bleed through to other…demographics that we’ve been trying to reach for a long time with Gillie and Wallo, Deion. We get a guy like Kam, the way he looks, the way he plays, it’s a paradigm shift for our brand and yours."

Mark found himself getting uncomfortable but hid it well.

"We're talking millions of eyeballs on this kid every single day. Our fans don’t give a fuck about this thing at the nightclub, if anything, it makes him look cooler, you know. And his fans, they see us associate with him, in a time like this, it’s a fucking transformation and a fusion and all that shit.”

The possibilities swirled in Mark's mind like the ice in his untouched water glass. Portnoy continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Think about it. Kam becomes more than just a football player. He becomes a cultural icon. And Barstool? We ride that wave right into a whole new demographic."

“But again, none of this happens without sign off from the coaching staff and they don’t fucking listen to me,” Portnoy reminded him, “That’s your fucking job.”

…

Jamal leaned back on the worn leather couch in Trevor's basement, the familiar scent of pine and cinnamon from the Christmas tree upstairs wafting down. Outside, a light snow dusted the New Jersey streets, transforming the neighborhood into a winter wonderland. But down here, in the warmth of friendship and nostalgia, it felt like old times.

Trevor paced back and forth, . "Look, man, I'm telling you, Rutgers is on the come-up. We just need someone like you back here man, change our whole shit up."

Lana rolled her eyes from her perch on the bean bag chair, her fingers tapping away at her phone. "Trev, give it a rest. Jamal's not going to Rutgers. No offense."

Jamal chuckled, but there was a heaviness in his chest. The transfer portal. It felt like a lifeline and a burden all at once. "I don’t know, Mark was bigging them up too."

Trevor plopped down next to him, the couch groaning under their combined weight. "You come to Rutgers, you're the man from day one. They might even let you play running back again. It’s kind of crazy that I had both you and Kam in the backfield with me, bro. How did we ever lose?”

“We barely did,” Jamal boasted, taking a sip from his cup.



At the mention of Kam's name, Lana's fingers froze over her phone screen. She tossed her phone aside, the soft thud against the bean bag punctuating the sudden tension in the room.

"Kam," she spat out, sucking her teeth. "He still hasn't reached out to me, not even a text." The Christmas lights strung along the basement walls seemed to dim, as if sensing the shift in mood.

Jamal shifted uncomfortably on the couch, the leather creaking beneath him. He exchanged a glance with Trevor, who suddenly found the carpet incredibly interesting. The distant sound of carolers drifted down the stairs, a stark contrast to the heaviness settling over the room.

"Look, Lana," Jamal began, his voice soft but firm. "Kam's been crazy busy with everything going on. The case, leaving Kentucky, it's a lot." He paused, weighing his next words carefully. "Plus, he's in a relationship now."

Lana's head snapped up, her brow furrowed in confusion. "What? His little girlfriend from that signing day still with him?" The anger in her voice was tinged with something else now – surprise, maybe even a hint of jealousy.

Jamal sighed, taking a needed sip. The scent of pine seemed stronger now, almost overwhelming. "They seem pretty solid."

Lana's eyes darted between the two of them, searching for answers. "But what does that have to do with anything? Why wouldn't he just talk to me? We've known each other forever."

Jamal leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The weight of unspoken truths hung heavy in the air. "Lana, come on. You know y’all always had…whatever it is that y’all had.”

"He probably doesn't want to blur those lines with Yassy in the picture," Jamal continued, his voice gentle. "It's complicated, you know? He's trying to move forward, figure out his life. And reaching out to you... it might look a way."

The room fell silent, save for the muffled sounds of holiday cheer from upstairs. Lana stared at her hands, her fingers twisting together in her lap. The anger had faded, replaced by a mix of confusion and regret.

Trevor cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "You think we can get Kam to transfer over here?”

“You got a million dollars?” Jamal answered back with a laugh.

…

Layla stood at the kitchen counter, her fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on the granite surface. The warm aroma of freshly baked baklava filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension that hung thick in the room.

"Yassy, habibti, you need to think about this carefully," Layla said, her voice laced with concern. She turned to face her daughter, who was perched on a barstool, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. "This boy... he's been arrested. It's all over the news."

Yassy's eyes flashed with frustration. "Mama, I've told you a hundred times. Kam was released. They didn't have any evidence against him. It was all a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding that involved the police?" Layla's eyebrows arched skeptically. She wiped her hands on her apron, leaving faint traces of powdered sugar. "Yassy, you're young. You don't understand how these things can affect your future. If you take his last name…"

Amina, Yassy's older sister, looked up from her laptop at the kitchen table. Her fingers paused over the keyboard, the screen's glow illuminating her face in the dimming light. "Mom, come on. You know how it is. Kam was probably profiled. It happens all the time."

Layla sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. She reached for a delicate china teacup, the scent of cardamom and mint wafting up as she poured. "Amina, I understand that. But this isn't just about what’s wrong and what’s right with this world. It's about Yassy's safety, her reputation."

Yassy slid off the barstool, her bare feet padding softly on the cool tile floor. She moved to stand beside her mother, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "Mama, please. Kam is a good person. He wouldn't hurt anyone. The media just blew everything out of proportion."

The kitchen fell silent for a moment, save for the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the distant chirping of birds outside. Layla looked into her daughter's eyes, seeing the fierce determination there. It reminded her so much of herself at that age.

Amina closed her laptop with a soft click, pushing her chair back. "Mom, I've been following this story closely. The charges were dropped almost immediately. But of course, that didn't get as much coverage as the arrest." She stood, stretching her arms above her head. "It's classic sensationalism. They love to tear down successful Black people.

Layla's gaze shifted between her two daughters, her brow furrowed in thought. The kitchen clock ticked steadily in the background, marking the passage of time as she weighed her words carefully.

The kitchen door swung open with a gentle creak, and Ahmed's towering figure filled the doorframe. Yassy tensed, her grip on her phone tightening as she braced herself for her father's reaction as it was evident he had been listening in. But to her surprise, Ahmed's expression softened as he moved to stand beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Do not let this news stress you," he began, his voice gentle. "This is a very important year for you and you need to focus on your studies. We support you, we support Kam, he’s a fine young man from what I can tell.”

A collective gasp of surprise echoed through the kitchen. Layla's teacup clinked against its saucer, the sound sharp in the stunned silence.

Ahmed continued, his eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. "You remember Ishmael’s boy from work, it was a nightmare for their family."

Amina, however, shifted in her seat, her brow furrowed in thought. The legs of her chair scraped against the tile as she stood, drawing everyone's attention.

"Baba, I appreciate what you're saying, and I agree that Kam is likely being railroaded here," she began, her voice measured but firm. "But that was different, what Ishmael was accused of…Don’t even get me started again on how unlikely it was that the girl just made that up.

The room grew still, the only sound the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall and the distant hum of traffic outside. Ahmed nodded slowly, considering his older daughter's words.

"I’m not going to get into it with you guys," he conceded, his voice heavy with the weight of the conversation. "But yes, we can all agree that just because the police said it happen, that it did happen.”

“I just don’t want you to get caught up in this,” Layla sighed, coming over to rub her arm, “Who a woman chooses to build a family with is the most important decision of his life.”

Yassy broke out into tears at the mention of the word ‘family’, her family consoling her not knowing of the weight she carried with her. The trauma from the miscarriage still fresh in her mind, the family that never was.