Yana squeezed her tight. “Thanks, Mama.”
Love kissed the side of her head. “You’re the best thing I ever created. You know that?”
“I do,” Yana teased. “You tell me all the time.”
They laughed.
It was true. Yana was Love’s greatest creation, but her home was her second. Tucked into the quiet Atlanta, Georgia Suburb of Stone Mountain, her house wasn’t just big, it was intentional. Every square inch, molding, and velvet drapes was touched by her vision. She and Juwon had built it from the ground up, but she led the design. She chose the layout and the windows that letin just enough lighting in the morning but bathed the kitchen in gold by late afternoon. She hand selected the marble that veined through the counters and floors like living art.
The walk-in library just off the grand staircase was her favorite part. It was modern but warm, rich in the kind of elegance that didn’t screammoneybut whisperedlegacy. Even the garden out back that was wild and a little overgrown felt like a poem out of a fairy tale. The sunken living room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a black baby grand that no one knew how to play sat in the corner.
Admittedly, it wasn’t just book money or Juwon’s wealthy career as an accountant for rich folks that made it possible to afford this place. Although she had grown up wealthy, in Detroit’s neighboring city of Redford, her father’s career excelled during her teenage years, allowing them to move from Redford into the neighboring city of Bloomfield Hills. He left her a trust earned from his decades as one of the most respected black architects in the Midwest when he passed away when she was nineteen years old. The house was built on foundation and inheritance, yes. But also on grit, vision, and love.
That was why it hurt her like hell to fight for it now. It was the centerpiece of a divorce that Juwon still hadn’t answered to. He knew what it meant to her. Every day that went by without him signing those papers felt like another reminder that when he’d given up on them, he still couldn’t let go of what she’d built.
As guests filled the room and music drifted through the speakers, Love stepped away to refill her glass of champagne, followed by her best friend Quiyanna.
“Look at him,” Quiyanna began, staring at Juwon with her eyes narrowed. “Walking around like he ain’t just tear his whole family apart for a bitch with a stiff wig.”
“Q, don’t even start,” Love replied through an exasperated breath.
“I’m just saying. Got the nerve to be passing out party favors, smilin’ for photos like he didn’t have your name saved in his phone when he was with her as ‘Do Not Answer.’”
Love popped open another bottle of champagne and refilled her glass. “It was actually ‘Love T. (Old Life).’”
“Old life? Oh, hell no. He really had some nerve!”
“Girl, tell me about it.”
Q held out her glass to Love, signaling to refill her glass as well. “I will never forgive him. Ever. I hope the judge makes him hand deliver you alimony in silence every month,” she stated.
“He still won’t sign the papers,” Love replied, refilling her champagne flute.
“Of course he hasn’t. He knows the second he does, it’s real. You, the house, the legacy. He didn’t want you but don’t wanna see you walk away either. Typical.”
Love bent over the kitchen island and watched her daughter through the opening to the living room. She took a sip of her champagne and exhaled.
“It’s her birthday. I’m just trying to breathe through it.”
“You better than me,” Q shot back. “I would’ve threw a damn cupcake at his head by now.”
Love smirked and took another sip. Before she could respond, her assistant, Tara, burst through the front door, breathless and grinning.
“Love!” she called and rushed through the crowd in nude heels that were made for warm Atlanta Spring evenings. “Love, where are you!”
Love turned, confused. “Tara, . . . why are you here? What’s going on?”
Tara pushed through the crowd, getting nasty stares and remarks from guests, and stumbled into the kitchen. She grabbed Love’s hands and shook her slightly.
“You remember the pitch . . . I made to that . . . creative media group downtown?” she exclaimed in between breaths.
Love blinked. “The Essence Fest-style event thing? The huge one?”
“Yes! Guess what?” Tara practically vibrated. “You’ve been invited to headline! And there are producers that are speaking about adaptingWhen the Rain Stopsfor a feature film.”
Love’s mouth dropped open.
Quiyanna screamed behind her, nearly dropping her champagne.
