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Her mother just washed dishes harder. The truth was no longer something they could run from. It was here andhere to stay.

“Have you prayed about this?” her mother asked softly.

“I stayed. Longer than I should have.” Was all that Taylor offered.

If they couldn’t see past this blind loyalty she wouldn’t be explaining further. It was clear she wouldn’t get what she came for.

No comfort.

No support.

Just judgment.

“Tyree’s a good man who’s lost his way,” her father offered, quiet.

Taylor stood, her time here was up.

“Then y’all help him find it. I’m done being his compass. He’s slowing me down.”

Her mother smirked.

Her father blinked.

Neither spoke.

Taylor grabbed her keys and walked out before they could see her tears.

Now, sitting in the airport watching planes take off, Taylor felt tears threatening again. She was too old for this type of crying. She needed to shed the sadness. She needed to free herself of all that she had been holding. Her phone buzzed with another message from her mama. Probably another Bible verse about perseverance. She didn’t open it.

Instead, she pulled up Brooks’ last text: Can’t wait to see you, girl.

“First class passengers for Flight 1463 to Denver, we’re now boarding.”

Taylor smiled despite herself, shaking her headat Brooks’ insistence on first class despite her protests. She’d told him economy was fine, that she didn’t need special treatment.

He hadn’t flown economy, and neither would she.

She stood and pulled her cardigan closed. She’d gone with a black jumpsuit and oversized floor length cardigan. The thick tube socks and fresh New Balances completed her look, practical but still put together. She’d learned long ago how to appear flawless even when falling apart inside. She stopped and snapped a picture of herself blowing Brooks a kiss. She couldn’t wait to see him either.

As Taylor made her way to her seat, she found herself quietly measuring Brooks against everyone else who’d been in her life. Her parents, who loved their perfect idea of her more than who she actually was. Tyree, who loved only what she could provide. Even her friends, who often accepted the carefully curated version she showed without question, never looking deeper, never pushing beyond what was comfortable.

But it wasn't their job to read her mind or break down her walls—that was hers. Brooks was different because he didn’t wait for permission to see her truth; he just did. And for once, she didn't feel the need to hide.

He understood she was something special but never fragile. He’d kept it real with her from day one. She needed to get rid of the zero. She giggled thinking about how he called Tyree a bum and refused to address her if it wasn’t her maiden name. He was crazy and she liked it. Brooks never asked her to be smaller or quieter or more of anything that wasn’t authentic to her. He just wanted her to be Taylor whoever that turned out to be. Pretty Gurl Freestyle Taylor or Fred HammondTaylor, he’d eat her up anyway she came.

As the plane lifted off, Taylor closed her eyes and let her head rest against the plush first-class seat. The day’s weight began to lift from her shoulders.

“What a dream,” she whispered, a small smile playing on her lips. Whether she meant the seat, the escape, or the man waiting for her in Denver, she wasn’t entirely sure.

By the time she touched down, almost three hours later, her nerves had settled a bit. She moved through the terminal on autopilot, heart thudding steadily in her chest, eyes scanning for the one face she actually wanted to see.

Taylor took in her surroundings before she spotted him. Brooks stood near the entrance of baggage claim, towering over the crowd in dark creased jeans and a fitted black hoodie that he filled perfectly. He was scrolling through his phone, fac bunched up, focused on something. Even from a distance, she could see the gold Cuban Link necklace peeking from under his collar and the heavy watch glinting on his wrist.

He was so damn fine.

Then he looked up.

His eyes locked onto hers, and the rest of the airport melted away.