Page 53 of A Kingpin’s Weakness

Me and Jo took a seat on the soft gray couch while Ms. Sylvia sat in her usual chair across from us, clipboard in hand, glasses perched low on her nose like always.

“So today, we’re going to do things a little differently,” she began, folding her hands in her lap.

“Jolene had an assignment this week. She wrote a letter to her children, and I’d like her to read it today, if that’s okay with you, Stormi?

” I blinked, heart skipping. “Yes,” I said, swallowing hard.

My palms were already sweating. Jo reached into her hoodie pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of notebook paper, and cleared her throat.

I looked over at her, trying to brace myself but there’s no real way to prepare when your own mother is about to speak to the child version of you.

The broken version. She unfolded the letter with shaking fingers and started reading.

Dear Stormi,

I don’t even know how to start this, because no words feel big enough to hold what I owe you.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry to the four-year-old baby who had to learn what heroin smelled like before she knew how to tie her shoes.

Who had to yank needles out her mama’s arm and shake me awake, thinking it was normal.

You should’ve been playing with dolls, eating fruit snacks, learning your ABCs.

But instead, you were learning how to keep me alive.

And I hate that. I hate that I let you be my hero when I should’ve been yours.

I’m sorry to 13-year-old Stormi, who caught my contractions before I did.

Who delivered her baby brother in a bathroom that smelled like mold and fear, while I was too high to feel anything.

I had the baby but you… You were the mother.

You cut the cord, literally and emotionally, and still held us together.

I stole what little childhood you had left that day. And I never gave it back.

I’m sorry to grown Stormi, who packed her life in a trash bag and left, choosing herself, choosing peace.

I didn’t chase you. I didn’t fight for you.

Not because I didn’t love you, but because I didn’t know how to love anyone through the kind of pain I was drowning in.

You were right to leave. And you were brave to come back.

You showed up for all of us in ways I never did.

You let me into your world, your home, your family and most importantly, your heart. You could’ve slammed the door in my face. You had every right to. But instead, you opened it and asked me to do better. And I’m trying. I’m really trying.

This next chapter in my life is about healing, but it starts with telling the truth and the truth is: I failed you.

Repeatedly. And you loved me anyway. Thank you for not hating me.

Thank you for seeing something in me worth saving.

You are everything I wished I could’ve been.

Strong. Soft. Loving. Whole. You are the light I lost somewhere between when my innocence was first taking and my first high.

And now I see that light again in the way you love your unborn son.

In the way you care for me. In the way you walk into a room like your soul finally believes it deserves to be there.

You are the woman I wanted to raise, but couldn’t. And somehow, you became her anyway.

Thank you for coming back to me through your strength, through your forgiveness, through your heart.

I love you, Stormi Knight Green. I always have. I always will.

Love,

JO

By the time she said my full name, I was gone .

Tears streamed down my face; big, hot, heavy ones that didn’t ask for permission.

I didn’t even try to hold them in. I had spent too many years doing that.

Too many years pretending I didn’t want her.

That I didn’t miss her. That I hadn’t needed her to just say sorry.

And now here she was, broken voice, shaking hands, and trying.

I nodded through my tears, too overwhelmed to speak.

Jo reached over, grabbed my hand, and held on tight like we were both five years old again and scared.

We finished the session… not with a breakthrough, but a beginning. And that was enough.

Afterward, I left quietly, heart still full and fragile at the same time.

I wasn’t ready to go home just yet. Not until I saw Noah.

I needed to look him in the eye, ask him why he was spiraling, why he was pushing us all away.

Because I couldn’t lose him, too. Not now.

Not when I was just starting to piece my family back together.

The phone rang once before Seth picked up, his voice smooth and warm like honey in the middle of winter.

“How’s it riding?”

I smirked, glancing down at the sparkling dashboard of the Maybach like it was my new best friend. “Great. But you knew that already.”

He chuckled, that deep, low laugh that always made me feel like home. “You missing me already?”

I paused, just enough to tease. “And if I was?”

“I’d be heading straight to you,” he said, no hesitation. I knew he wasn’t just playing; if I told him to, he’d pull up wherever I was without blinking. I laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tension that had been sitting in my chest since therapy. “You so extra.”

“Only for you.”

I shook my head. “I’m stopping to check on Noah before I come home. So if you beat me home, can you get S3’s stuff ready for dinner?”

“Yeah,” he said, but his voice dipped lower. “Everything okay with Noah?”

I bit my bottom lip, leaning back against the seat, heart tugging. “I don’t know. I didn’t like how he sounded earlier. His energy was off like he’s carrying something he ain’t said out loud yet.”

“You want me to talk to him?”

“Nah. I got it for now,” I said, though part of me wanted to say yes. I was just tired of being the glue, but I was the only one who knew how all the pieces used to fit. A beat passed between us.

“Just hurry home to us,” he said gently.

I smiled at that. Us.

“I will.”

“Stormi?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

The way he said it was simple, steady, no fluff…

and it hit harder than anything else he could’ve offered.

I closed my eyes for a second, heart full.

“I love you more, husband.” I ended the call, then sat in silence for a moment, my hand resting on my belly.

And even with all the messiness, the questions, the wounds still healing I felt solid.

Because even when life was heavy, I wasn’t carrying it alone anymore.

I pulled up to Jo’s house, already feeling the weight in my chest before I even turned off the ignition. The house looked the same: familiar, tired, stuck. And just like always, Dre and Noah were slouched on the porch, posted like time didn’t move out here.

But me, I was changing. And I was tired of being the only one. I climbed out the car, rubbing my belly once as if Shiloh could give me strength.

“Guess you not tired no more, huh?” I said, eyeing Noah with just a hint of attitude, my voice soft but laced with disappointment.

Dre looked up, speaking for him like Noah couldn’t bother. “I asked him to drop me at the airport. That’s why he outta bed.”

Noah didn’t say a word. Just dragged from his joint like I wasn’t even there. Like I didn’t damn near raise him. I stepped closer, my stomach tightening not from the baby, but from the pain of being constantly pushed away.

“Noah,” I said, calm but firm, “can I talk to you in private for a second?”

He stood up without looking at me, brushing past me like I was just air. “Nah. I gotta drop my boy to the airport.”

“Noah,” I said his name again, louder this time.

“Noah!” My voice cracked. He kept walking. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look back. I stood there frozen, the weight of all the years I carried him suddenly heavier than my pregnancy. I wasn’t just his sister, I was his keeper for so long. And now he couldn’t even give me five seconds.

“Can I use the bathroom real quick?” Dre asked behind me.

“Yeah,” I murmured, unlocking the door without looking at him. My voice was hollow. My heart even hollower.

I walked inside and went straight to the kitchen, needing something cold… anything to ground me. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and leaned against the counter, breathing slow, trying to push the tears back down. I pulled out my phone, hands trembling. My thumbs hovered over the screen.

I love you. I’m sorry I left.

I stared at the words, swallowing hard.

“Give him some time. He’ll realize soon how much you mean to him.”

Dre’s voice rolled in behind me while I stood in Jo’s kitchen, still clutching my phone after texting Noah. There was something off in his tone. Too calm. Too cold. I looked over my shoulder. Something in me knew. Before I even saw it, my soul screamed run, but my body wouldn’t move.

“What makes you so sure?” I asked, heart starting to beat hard in my chest as I turned to face him.

He stepped closer, and that’s when I saw the gun. A gun. He pointed it straight at me.

“No—no, Dre, what are you doing?” I said, stumbling backward.

“Give me your phone,” he snapped.

My breath caught in my throat. Hands shaking, I passed it to him like it was a bomb. Like maybe if I moved slow enough, he’d change his mind.

“Listen… you don’t gotta do this,” I said, my voice cracking under the weight of panic rising in my throat. “Whatever this is, is between you and me”

“I been dreaming about this,” he cut me off, eyes like stone. “Seth walking around like he above it all. Like he didn’t put my pops in the ground.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” I asked, trembling now, one hand instinctively cradling my belly.

“For Ronnie,” he said, voice hard and bitter. “Seth killed my father. Now I’m killing his bitch and his seed.”

I swear I couldn’t breathe. I staggered, hand pressed to my stomach like I could shield my baby from the reality of what was about to happen.

“No, no, please,” I begged. “I’m pregnant. Dre, please don’t do this. You ain’t gotta do this.”

My heart was pounding like a war drum in my chest. There was no running.

No help. No way out. Just me and a man who pretended to be my brothers friend now holding a gun like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.

I stood frozen in Jo’s kitchen, feet rooted to the floor, mind screaming for me to move, to do something but all I could do was watch his finger curl tighter around the trigger.

Just when I thought we could finally breathe again when peace felt close enough to touch, Ronnie’s ghost came back, wearing his son’s face.

Did he know that the man he was calling “father” was a monster Did he know Ronnie killed Seth’s father?

That he put a bullet in Lia like her life didn’t matter.

No. He didn’t care. He didn’t want truth.

He wanted blood. I was standing there, pregnant with Seth’s son.

Our future. Our joy. Our healing. And all Dre saw was a target.

So I whispered a prayer. Quiet. Desperate. God, please protect my baby. If I don’t make it, don’t let him die with me. Seth can’t survive losing both of us. He’s already lost too much.

Dre raised the gun.

“Tell Ronnie,” he said with cold satisfaction, “his son down here standing on business.”

Bang!

I screamed and didn’t even realize I was screaming until I felt the hot sting tear through my side.

Bang!

My knees buckled. Blood soaked through my maternity shirt like ink. My hand flew to my stomach on instinct.

Bang!

I hit the floor. Hard. The world tilted. All I could hear was ringing. All I could taste was blood. My vision blurred and all I could see was the baby’s ultrasound taped inside my phone case before Dre snatched it away. My hands, slick and shaking, gripped my belly.

“Shiloh!” I gasped, voice thick with tears. “Baby, I need you to be strong. Please stay with me.”

My limbs were heavy. My breath came in short, shallow bursts. I could feel life slipping from me, but I wasn’t scared for myself. I was scared for my son. I was scared for Seth I was scared of becoming another person he had to bury. “I love you,” I whispered, as everything turned black.