“When Booda died, I buried my child.” She paused, struggling to steady herself. “And every day after that, I was terrified I’d end up burying you too.”
A question had been weighing heavily on me for a long time, and this was finally my chance to ask it.
“Mrs. Mary, you lied to me, but what made it worse was that nobody else said anything either. Not our soldiers. Even the bouncers at the club asked me how Booda was doing. How did so many people keep quiet about something like that?”
Mrs. Mary lowered her eyes before answering.
“Because most people didn’t know.”
My forehead creased.
“What?”
“A delivery driver found y’all after it happened,” she explained. “Booda was already gone by the time help got there, and you were barely hanging on. Once the doctors said you was stable enough to move, I had you transferred somewhere else .”
I stared at her silently while she continued.
“As for Booda, I kept everything private. The service was small. Just close family. Then I had him cremated right after.” Her voice weakened. “With the kinda life y’all lived, I didn’t think making his death public would do nothing except create more violence.”
My eyes burned with unshed tears.
“I never wanted to hurt you, baby. I was trying to save your life.”
Mrs. Mary cried quietly across from me, still holding my hand like she was afraid I might disappear if she let go, and there was no way I could pull away from someone who still loved me despite my flaws.
A heavy silence settled between us after that. It wasn’t awkward. We were just two tired people sitting across from each other, carrying more grief than either of us knew what to do with.
Mrs. Mary wiped beneath her eyes before finally reaching into her purse.
“I brought you something,” she said, pulling out a small silver chain.
The moment the locket came into view, my breathing slowed. It was old and beautiful in a worn way. Small scratches covered the surface as if she had held onto it for years.
Mrs. Mary looked down at it for a second before carefully placing it in my hand. My fingers curled around it automatically.
“Booda wanted you to have that.”
I stared down at the tiny heart-shaped locket resting in my palm, afraid to open it for reasons I couldn’t explain.
Mrs. Mary swallowed hard beside me. “His ashes are inside.”
Tears streamed down my face so hard I couldn’t see straight. My hand shook as I held the locket, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but feel the weightof it, both the physical weight of the metal and the unbearable heaviness of what it contained.
Booda’s ashes.
My Booda.
The noise in the visitation room faded into the background. The guards. The women talking across the room. The phones ringing somewhere behind the desk. All of it disappeared.
I looked down at the locket again, like maybe I had heard her wrong.
But I hadn’t.
For months, Booda existed through memories, dreams, conversations, guilt, love, anger, and confusion.” He had been everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
And now, I held a piece of him inside my hand.
Mrs. Mary broke down crying again at the sight of me holding it.
