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“You got me there,” he chuckled, reaching to ruffle Grant’s hair like he always did. “Hello, my little flower,” he said, leaning down to kiss Daisy’s cheek. “This must be little Nori. My God, she’s the spitting image of Anthony. And last but not least, we have—”
“Kiyah!” Kiyah exclaimed, always eager to meet new people. “You look like Mr. Jonathan!”
“I beg your pardon, young lady. It is Mr. Jonathan who looks like me. I’m Mr. Marcus, Jonathan’s father.”
“Wow. You’re so tall.”
I left to retrieve my phone and keys from the kitchen. My eyes misted as I scrolled through the missed calls and texts. I answered an incoming call from Anthony.
“Jon, I was just passing by the emergency room when—”
“How bad is she? My father won’t give it to me straight.”
“I don’t know, Jon. I’m a numbers guy, not a doctor.”
“Fuck you, Anthony. I thought if anyone wouldn’t bullshit me, it’d be you,” I spat angrily.
“There was a lot of blood, and she was intubated. I’m with your mother in the waiting room now. I’m heading over to your house to help Marcus watch the kids. Bring your mother a change of clothes if you can.”
“Thanks.”
“She’ll pull through. I was bulldozed by an 18-wheeler and ejected through the windshield and survived.”
“Anthony, you were in a coma for a year and live with a permanent limp. You’re not a shining example of pullingthrough,” I sighed, grabbing some clean clothes from the laundry room that had yet to be put away.
“I’m still handsome, though, and sometimes I pretend to be in intense pain, and a beautiful, voluptuous woman massages my thigh for me.”
I smiled weakly and stuffed the clothing into a backpack. “I’m telling Simone,” I said, poorly holding back my tears.
“Ambulance chaser and a snitch, huh? You’re just a well-dressed piece of shit,” he joked.
“You’re one to talk,” I accused.
“I’d be nicer to the person who handles your vast fortune if I were you,” Anthony warned.
I couldn’t hold back any longer. I closed the laundry room door and burst into tears. The more Anthony tried to console me, the harder I cried.
How is it fair that our lives beautifully intertwined, only for her to be taken from me? Forget me…what about Kiyah? No child should experience the pain of losing both of her parents.
Naturally, I’d raise Kiyah as my own, but what if her maternal grandparents fought for custody?
Stop, Jon. You’re getting ahead of yourself. But God? Why did it have to be her?
* * *
My breath caught, and my chest tightened when I approached my mother. Her clothes were stained with blood…Kierra’s blood. I startled her when I dropped the bag before her.
“Oh, my baby. You’re here.”
“I brought you clothes,” I mumbled.
“Thank you, sweet—”
“I need an update before I lose my fucking mind.”
She nodded, understanding I wasn’t in the mood for her usual babying.
“Kierra’s in surgery. Her right arm is broken, and she has some internal injuries and bleeding because of metal that pierced her side. Everything else is bumps and bruises. Thankfully, she was wearing a helmet, or I’d be telling a different story. She stayed conscious throughout the ambulance ride to the hospital. She desperately wanted to talk to you and the kids. We couldn’t reach you, so she left a voice message instead.”
