Page 5 of You Deserve Good Things

The Decision to Leave

Wasn’t no sound louder on this Earth than a mama’s cry when she lost her child. Not sirens. Not screams. Not even the sound of gunfire.

It was the kind of cry that came from the soul—raw and ragged. One that didn’t stop when the tears did. The kind that left your throat burning, your chest hollow, and your heart feeling like it got carved out your body with a rusty blade.

I never knew this kind of pain. Not until Silas. My baby. My firstborn. My protector. My whole damn heart.

The house still smelled like him. Like that mix of Polo Red and sweat, a scent that clung to his clothes and his room like it was tryin’ to hold on for both of us.

His shoes still sat by the door, half-laced, toes scuffed from dragging ’em when he walked.

His hoodie—the one he wore damn near every day—was draped over the kitchen chair like he was gon’ come back for it.

I hadn’t moved none of it. I couldn’t. ’Cause if I did, that’d make it real. And I wasn’t ready for real. Not when his baby sister hadn’t said a single word since she watched him bleed out on that pavement.

I glanced over at Shaniya, curled up on the end of the couch like a leaf pressed into a corner, her arms wrapped around her, hoodie drowning her body. Her face was blank. Not a tear. Not a blink. Just . . . hollow.

She hadn’t eaten. She barely slept. She wouldn’t talk. Wouldn’t hum. Wouldn’t even flinch when I touched her.

I didn’t know what else to do. I tried everything—songs, prayers, food, soft rubs on her back. Nothing I did worked. In such a way, Silas took her voice with him when he left.

Samuel sat next to me, his weight making the couch groan. He looked like a ghost of the man I married. He’d always been the rock—tall, strong, quiet, one of them Black men that didn’t say much, but when he spoke? Everybody listened.

But lately, it looked as if the world broke him too. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped tight tryna hold on to the last bit of sanity he had left.

“Baby,” I whispered, reaching out to touch his knee. My voice came out raspy. Weak. He didn’t look at me right away. He just inhaled deep, as though somethin’ as simple as breathing hurt.

When his eyes met mine, they were red, tired, damn near lifeless.

“I shoulda protected him, Shari,” he murmured. “I shoulda been there, baby.”

My heart cracked again. “Don’t do that, Samuel.”

“I shoulda told him no when he wanted to contribute financially to help,” he whispered, rubbing his palms like he could wipe away the guilt. “Shoulda stopped him. Made him listen. I knew something was wrong that night. I felt it in my bones.”

“And you think I didn’t?” I said, my voice snapping louder than I meant. “You think I ain’t been asking myself what I coulda done better? If I shoulda called him back to grab his wallet or asked him to stay in and eat dinner with us?”

I choked on the tears pressing at my throat, but I kept going.

“We can’t bring him back, Sam. We can’t fix this. But we still got our daughter. And I refuse to lose her too.”

I nodded toward Shaniya, her small frame still pressed into the corner, seeming to want to disappear. Her knees were pulled to her chest, face buried in her arms, hoodie strings dangling like they were tryna strangle her silence.

Samuel followed my gaze. His whole body deflated.

“She’s all we got left,” I whispered.

He nodded once. Slow.

In that instant, we both knew—we had to get her outta here. We couldn’t keep breathing this air that reeked of death and memories. We couldn’t keep passing the corner store where our son’s blood still stained the pavement. We had to leave.