When he pulled back from the embrace, Juwon cleared his throat. “You two hungry?” he asked, attempting a smile. “I could eat.”
Yana nodded, her voice warm. “Can we order from that Thai place?”
Love looked between them and gave a small nod. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”
They all stood and moved into the kitchen together, each step a little lighter than before. While Love placed the order, Juwon pulled down plates and cups out of habit. Yana leaned against the counter, still quiet but present. They didn’t speak much, just small, safe talk while they waited for dinner. There was no tension, just a fragile peace that slowly knit itself into the room.
When the food arrived, they ate and laughed between small jokes. When they finished, they cleaned up, then gathered back into the living room like old times. Snacks spread across the coffee table, and the TV played softly in the background. They chose a movie they used to watch together when Yana was little. It was something silly, familiar, and safe. When a corny linecame on, Yana let out a small giggle, but it echoed through the room like sunshine cracking through a storm.
Love caught Juwon looking at Yana with glassy eyes.
“She’s got your heart,” he whispered.
“No,” Love replied softly. “That’s all yours.”
The rest of the night unfolded gently. They didn’t revisit the heavy stuff. Just shared space, warmth, and noodles eaten straight from the carton. Yana eventually curled up against a throw pillow with her head resting on Love’s shoulder. Juwon reclined in the armchair nearby, his eyes flicking between them and the screen. It was quiet again, but not the aching kind. Just stillness.
As the credits rolled and Yana dozed lightly, Juwon stood. He walked over to the coat he’d hung on the back of the couch and reached into the inside pocket. When he turned around, there was a thin manila envelope in his hand.
He walked it over to Love, careful not to wake Yana, and held it out. She looked up at him, surprised.
“I signed them,” he said, his voice low. “The divorce papers.”
Love’s fingers closed around the envelope slowly as he released them from his grip. She stared at it for a second before lifting her gaze to him.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Juwon shrugged. “I think you’re an incredible woman, Love. Always have. We just . . . stopped loving each other the same way. But there’s no love lost. I still love you. I’ll always love Yana. I’ll still be here . . . if you’ll let me.”
Love’s eyes brimmed again. “I’m sorry. For everything I placed on you. For how I made you carry it all. I still love you too. And I’ll always be grateful.”
He leaned down and hugged her, careful not to wake Yana who was still resting on her shoulder. It was gentle, firm, and familiar.
“I’m going to head out now,” he whispered in her ear before standing up.
Love gently lifted Yana off her shoulder and rested her on the couch gently. “Let me walk you out.”
When the front door finally closed behind him, Love stood there for a moment, her hand still wrapped around the envelope.
She listened to the movie that was still playing faintly from the front door, though she wasn’t paying attention. She turned her back and leaned against the door. She tilted her head back and exhaled, slow and deep.
Tears slipped from her eyes. Love didn’t say anything; she just stood there in silence, wrapped in the kind of love that didn’t need fixing, only time.
The Lion Pack
Zay saton the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, staring down at his phone like it held the answers. The room was quiet—no music, no TV, just the sound of the trees blowing in the breeze from his bedroom window. His phone sat in his palm, lit up with her name. All he had to do was press ‘send.’
Back in Atlanta, Love was folding laundry in the living room. The mundane task helped calm her nerves, but the second her phone rang and Zay’s name appeared, her heart jumped. She stared at it for a second. Then she took a deep breath, placed Yana’s hoodie down on the couch, and answered.
The silence that followed wasn’t just awkward; it was heavy. It was full of everything they hadn’t said in fifteen years. She sat back on the couch and brushed over a wrinkle in her leggings. He leaned back on the bed, eyes to the ceiling.
“So,” he finally said, voice low, “I been tryna figure out how to call you without sounding angry. Or hurt. Or like I don’t care.”
He paused again. Love’s heart raced as she braced herself for another conversation she needed to have.
“So what happened?”
Another pause stretched between them. Then she exhaled and began.
