Page 33

I lit it on the balcony and took a slow pull.

The smoke burned going down. Sharp. Bitter.

Familiar. The first tear hit my cheek before I even exhaled.

I didn’t wipe it away. I just stood there, letting the wind brush past my skin, letting the smoke calm my nerves.

I’d spent so much time in survival mode these past few days, making sure Nas was okay, making sure the doctors did what they needed to do, making sure the world didn’t know I was falling apart.

But out here…on this balcony, in the dark, with no one but the stars to witness it—I could break.

And I did. I cried for the baby we’d never meet.

I cried for the excitement I’d buried, for the names I never wrote down.

For the tiny socks and bibs and blankets that now sat behind a closed door.

I cried for the version of myself that believed love could fix everything.

I cried because I still loved him. Even after everything.

I leaned against the railing, holding the blunt between my fingers, and stared up at the sky. “You would’ve had the best dad,” I whispered, voice cracking. “He would’ve spoiled you. Taught you how to fight, how to protect yourself. You would’ve been so loved…”

My knees buckled and I slid down the side of the house, burying my face in my hands. I didn’t know how long I sat there. But eventually, the sound of the door sliding open brought me back to earth.

“Egypt?”

His voice was hoarse.

I turned quickly, wiping my face. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was. But you weren’t next to me, so…”

He limped toward me slowly, favoring his injured side. “You alright?”

“No,” I whispered. “But I will be.”

He nodded, then knelt beside me with a wince, his arm going around my shoulder.

I let myself fall into him, burying my face in his chest. We didn’t say much else.

We didn’t need to. He knew. And in that silence, under that moonlight, I started to believe we could find a way forward. One day at a time. Together.

It’d only been a few weeks since we came home from the hospital, but it felt like months. Time was slow. Heavy. Like every breath I took had to be carried by force.

Nasseem was still healing, still moving a little stiff, still sleeping more than he liked. Creed had been stopping by every other day, making sure Nas had someone to help with the small things when I couldn’t. But today was the first time I really planned to leave the house.

And I didn’t want to.

“I’ll be fine,” Nas said gently, like he knew the words before I could say them. “Creed gon’ be here any second. You don’t need to babysit me.”

“I’m not babysitting you. I’m just—” I sighed, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “I don’t feel right leaving.”

“You need it,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

His voice was low, tired but strong. “I hear you at night, E…when you think I’m sleep.

” I froze in place. He continued, not letting me run from the truth.

“You try so hard not to cry around me, I get it. You don’t wanna make it worse.

But that shit... it’s already worse. You don’t gotta carry all this alone. ”

“I know,” I whispered, eyes burning.

“I don’t think you do.” He looked at me, those deep brown eyes filled with something raw and aching.

“I see you movin’ through this house, doin’ everything but feelin’ it.

I ain’t sayin’ go fall apart in front of everybody, but damn baby…

let it out somewhere.” His words hung in the air like incense smoke—thick, lingering, hard to ignore.

“Go to the studio,” he said, nodding. “You ain’t been back since. ..”

I bit the inside of my cheek and nodded. “Alright.”

“I love you,” he said, reaching for my hand. “Don’t forget that shit.”

“I love you too.”

I leaned down to kiss him softly, his hand resting over mine for just a second longer than it needed to.

Then I left.

I didn’t call my engineer. I didn’t text Averi, didn’t bring my assistant.

I just showed up. The studio felt like a second skin, worn but comforting.

My key still worked, and no one was scheduled after six, so I knew I’d have the whole place to myself.

I didn’t even stop in the main lounge. Just walked straight to the Aaliyah booth, slid my bag off my shoulder, and closed the door behind me.

It was time.

The words had been sitting inside me for days, crowding my chest. I opened my phone, went to the notes app, and scrolled through the lines I’d been piecing together in between breakdowns and deep breaths. My fingers trembled as I opened a blank project, laid down the chords, and turned the mic on.

The track was raw. Just a piano, ambient reverb, and my voice.

I held you in silence, just under my ribs

Dreamed of your laughter, but never heard it

Built you a future, mapped out your name

But life ain’t fair, and grief got no shame

I was a mother, even if just for a while

Now I’m just broken, learning to smile

The last line broke me.

Tears streamed down my face as I finished the take.

I didn’t do it again. I couldn’t. The moment was already in the booth, immortalized in every tremble of my voice.

I sat there, in the dim light, the track still echoing through my headphones.

My chest ached from the sobs I’d held back for days.

It was like the floodgates opened—and for the first time, I didn’t try to stop them.

“Egypt?” I looked up, startled by the voice.

Averi was standing at the door, hoodie on, slides and leggings, her hair pulled up in a messy puff.

No makeup. Just her. Real and present. “I checked your location,” she said softly.

“I figured if you weren’t at home, you were here.

And if you were here alone... then you needed me. ”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. She walked over and wrapped her arms around me tight, pressing her forehead against mine. We cried. No words. Just pain and the comfort of knowing we weren’t alone.

When we finally pulled apart, I wiped my face and sniffled. “I recorded something.”

“You wanna play it for me?” I nodded and hit play on the track. Her hand found mine as my voice filled the booth again. When it ended, she was crying too. “That’s your interlude,” she whispered. “That’s...the heart of your album.”

“I needed to get it out.”

“You did. And it’s beautiful. Heartbreaking, but beautiful.”

I took a deep breath. “I just wanna work. I can’t sit in the house today. I can’t look at him and not feel like I failed.”

“You didn’t fail,” Averi said, grabbing both of my hands. “You carried a whole life. You fought for it. You loved it. And you’re still loving Nas through all this. That’s not failure, E. That’s strength.” I broke down again, quietly this time, and she held me through it.

Then we got to work. Because that’s what we do. Even when it hurts…especially when it hurts.