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My harmony.

Cries. Cheers. People hugging each other in the front row.

I laughed through tears, turning just enough so they could see the round curve of our future.

He wrapped his arm around me, and for a few beats, we just stood there—two artists, two lovers, two souls who had weathered the industry and each other, and still found harmony.

Still singing.

Still writing.

Still here.

One year ago, we made the choice to build something real.

Not perfect. Not easy. Butreal.

I took time off after the tour—focused on my peace, my body, my breath. I started writing again. Quiet, intimate songs full of warmth and wonder. A few lullabies, too—soft melodies I haven’t let anyone hear yet. Not even him.

Taraj stayed creating. His solo debut charted at No. 3.

He’s producing now, mentoring, even got a Grammy nom last month. But through it all, he never let the spotlight pull him away from me. Fromus.

We found our rhythm.

We built a home just outside Philly.

His studio's on the top floor.

My garden’s out back. I promised I’d keep it alive this time—and I’m trying. We still had his apartment in Pittsburgh for when we needed to get into the studio with Amir. But in Philly, we found a peace we didn’t know we needed.

We have late mornings, Sunday pancakes, vinyl spinning in every room.

And when I found out I was pregnant, he cried.

Didn’t say a word at first—just knelt in front of me and kissed my belly like he was already singing to our child.

Tonight, I wasn’t the headliner. But I was the heartline.

And when he kissed me in front of twenty thousand people, I knew?—

We were always more than a moment.

We were the melody. Now we’re the chorus.

And soon…

We’ll hear a new voice join the song.

THE END