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“You’re still married, and you look like you’re about to blow,” Zane’s dad said sharply, directing it at her like I wasn’t even sitting there.

“So are you,” my dad chimed in.

“We know,” Zane said softly, retaking her seat. “But it’s over. On both sides. Mark is dragging things out because he’s petty and dangerous, but I’m done. I’m just trying to move on in peace.”

“With him?” her mom asked, pointing a manicured nail at me.

“With him,” Zane confirmed.

My dad sighed. “Sam, what is really going on? We haven’t talked to you in months. You just… disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear. I’ve been busy.”

My mother raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet.

Zane’s dad turned to me now. “You really think this is smart? With a baby on the way? No divorce? Emotions still raw? You want to raise a child in this mess?”

“I want to raise my child with love,” I said. “And stability. And peace. We’re trying to build something solid.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but Zane’s mother cut in.

She caught Zane’s eyes and folded her arms, tilting her head, eyes narrowing.

“You told us all this about Mark, Zane. You remember that? Said he made you feel seen, protected, all that. And look where that got you.”

Zane’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t say anything.

Her mother pressed on, voice low but laced with heat. “You rushed into that marriage, Zane. You didn’t want to hear a word from me or your father. Said we were being judgmental. Controlling.”

Zane glanced down, her hand instinctively going to her belly.

“And now here you are again,” her mother said, softer now but no less direct. “You’re still married. Pregnant by a man we’ve barely said two sentences to. And you want us to be what—happy?”

“Mama—” Zane started, voice cracking.

“No. Don’tMamame. I’m not saying he’s a bad man. I’m saying slow down. You’re moving like you’re trying to prove something. Like you need to be chosen to feel whole.” She exhaled. “Baby, I just don’t want you making permanent decisions while you’re still healing from the last ones.”

Zane opened her mouth to respond when my mother spoke.

“Enough.”

Everyone looked at her. My mom leaned forward, voice low but firm—like only a Black mama could be when she was about to shift the entire room.

“Everybody needs to calm down. We don’t have to like this, but we don’t have to stress them out at a pivotal time like this. That’s a grown woman carrying a child. Our grandchild.”

She speared each parent with a look.

“She needs peace, not strife. Let them talk instead of y’all fussing at them.”

Zane’s mom sat back slowly. Her dad still didn’t look thrilled, but he wasn’t barking anymore.

“I love your daughter,” I said. “More than I’ve ever loved anything in my life. I will protect her. I will protect my child. We’re not asking for permission.”

Silence again. Until my father muttered, “Well, I guess it don’t really matter what we say…”

My mom gave him a swift smack to the arm before turning to us. “Tell us how this happened.”

I started talking. Told them everything. Ended with me being bailed out of jail for whooping Mark’s ass. Luckily after it was the judge dropped the charges and neither one of us ended up with a criminal record. But I made Zane take a protective order out against Mark.