Page 39

STEPPING DOWN

I sat in my room, staring at the TV screen like I hadn’t seen this video a hundred times, with Cold Showers by Tia Gordon playing lowly in the background on my speaker.

It was Coast’s voice, that smooth, cocky tone that always had a way of cutting through bullshit. His face was still clear in the recording, but it felt like a different lifetime. He was talking about me—his little sister—the one he thought was strong enough to carry a whole empire on her back.

But I wasn’t.

Not anymore.

I had been slipping for months. Hell, I’d been depressed before I even had the baby, but I didn’t want to admit it. I thought once he came home from the NICU, things would feel lighter, like I had something to live for again.

When Mula came back home… it was like the weight doubled. The pressure. The grief. The guilt. The trauma. It all came crashing down, and it hit hard.

After I killed Butter, something in me cracked. I was built for a kill, yeah—I always knew I had that in me. But my hormones, my depression... it was like my body couldn’t keep up with my mind. I’d been stuck in a fog since that night.

I hadn’t been around the baby much, and I hated it. I couldn’t be around him while I was torn apart. Mula held us down, being a full-time dad while I stayed locked in my room, drawing, sewing, scribbling designs when my brain wasn’t frozen from the pills.

I felt bad. Embarrassed, even. Mula never complained. He just kept showing up—feeding the baby, rocking him to sleep, keeping the house moving like we weren’t falling apart behind closed doors.

Today, though… I was tired of feeling like this. Tired of pretending I was okay when I wasn’t. I was watching Coast’s will video again, and when it got to the end—the part I always avoided—I finally let it play.

His voice came through the speakers, steady and sure.

“Yummi… if you ever decide this ain’t the life for you no more—if you wanna step down—then give everything to Mula.

And don’t let nobody else sit next to him, under him, or behind him.

Not even Hurricane. Once you out, you out.

He’s the only one who can handle it. I know out of all of y’all, he’s not stepping down. ”

I paused the video as tears filled my eyes, but I didn’t cry. I was past that now.

I heard the door open, and Mula came in, cool and quiet like always. He sat next to me, pulled out a blunt, and lit it.

“Lunch is ready,” he said, voice low.

I nodded, but I kept my eyes on the screen.

“Lameek,” I said softly, “we need to talk.”

He leaned back, exhaled a long cloud of smoke. “What’s up?”

I took a deep breath. My hands were shaking, but I spoke steadily.

“I’m done. I wanna step down—give everything to you. The business, the streets, the name… all of it.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just sat there, watching me like he was trying to read my soul.

“I can’t do this shit no more. I’m not built for it the way I thought I was.

I’m tired. I wanna focus on my mental health, my son, and my life.

I’ve been in therapy, taking meds, but I still feel like I’m drowning some days.

I need more help, and I can’t get it if I’m still trying to play general in a man’s world.

I’m not the same Yummi. I’m not that girl anymore. ”

I finally looked at him, and my voice cracked.

“I don’t wanna fail my son.”

He sat there for a second, like he was taking it all in. He nodded slowly, like he already knew this was coming.

“I hear you, Yummi. I got you. You ain’t gotta carry shit no more. I’ll take it. All of it.”

I felt my chest loosen, like I could finally breathe.

“I wanna plan the wedding. I wanna be a wife… a mother. Not the general of Southwave.”

Mula smirked, his voice low and deep.

“Baby… you’re legendary in Southwave. You’ll always be the general.”

I smiled, but this time it felt real. Not forced. Not fake. Real.