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Right on cue, her husband walked in, carrying a tray of ribs like it was gold. He pulled me into a one-armed hug and said, “We’ve been praying over your tour.”

“Pray my voice holds,” I said with a grateful smile. “And that I don’t lose my mind.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were gathered around the table, plates heavy with food and stories. Darnell played one of my old tracks on the Bluetooth speaker and two-stepped behind his girls until Jasmine made him sit down. Savannah showedme her drawing of a unicorn. Mariah asked if she could come on stage with me one day.

There was joy. There was peace. There was ease. And God, I needed it more than I knew.

After the girls were tucked in, Jasmine and I sat out on the porch swing under a velvet sky, wine glasses in hand, our legs covered in a knit throw.

“You ready?” she asked.

I nodded. “As ready as I can be. I saw Mommy and gave her my hugs and kisses, and she wanted to know why I was acting like I ain’t never done this before. I shook my head because she was right. I’m used to this.”

She sipped. “And Raj?”

My chest pulled tight. She knew how to get to the heart of a matter.

“We’ve been… together. Like, really together. Ever since the proposal night.”

“You love him?”

“I do.”

“Then hold onto that. Tour’s a beast, but it don’t last forever. Love’s the only thing that can out-sing the noise.”

I rested my head on her shoulder. “I needed this.”

“I know.”

What I didn’t say was that the quiet moments were getting harder to come by. The last couple weeks with Taraj had been intense. Beautiful. And quiet in all the right ways.

We’d been inseparable—laughing, writing, laying around half-naked and talking about everything and nothing. He took me to meet his people, and I met the baby they all adored—his nephew, who reached for me with those fat fingers and laid his cheek on my chest like I was already part of the family.

I didn’t cry. But I thought about it later. In bed. In his arms. How I’d always loved children, even if I’d never said it out loud.

But the last two days before I left, we spoke less and felt more.Made love slow. Hummed to each other between breaths. Wrapped around each other like the world was trying to tear us apart and we were holding the line.

Most people didn’t understand what fame did to you. What it took to keep a spotlight burning. It wasn’t just the travel or the schedules. It was the giving. Of your voice. Your presence. Your image. Your time. Your body.

On tour, you were both product and producer. It chipped away at you, one show at a time. And love—new, tender, unfinished love—didn’t always survive the distance.

Taraj hadn’t said it, but I knew he felt it too.

I could still hear his voice that night before I left.

“I’m scared,” he’d whispered. “Not of us. But of time. Of how fast everything moves. You’re leaving soon, and I keep thinking… what if I don’t know how to keep you when the world keeps trying to claim pieces?”

And I wanted to believe we were unshakeable. That time couldn’t ruin us. But in the quiet parts of me—the ones I didn’t show often—I was scared too.

We were still learning how to be stars and stay in love at the same time. Still figuring out how to move in sync without one of us losing momentum.

He’d been good for me. Better than good. He saw me—not just the performer or the polished image. He heard the music in my heart and found a way to sync his rhythm with mine.

I had spent so long convincing myself that being alone was the cost of my dreams. That reaching my goals would be enough. That standing on the biggest stage in the world could fill every crack.

But once you find someone who matches your frequency… who knows how to pull truth from your throat, how to meet your words with his voice and his hands and his body?—

You don’t ever want to let that go.