Because this was always meant to be mine. This life. This man.
This child.
Six years ago, I met Mr. Jerome Clyde at a fundraiser on the South Side. I still look good for my age, still turning heads, and he noticed me immediately. He started talking to me, bought me drinks, and made me laugh. By the end of the night, we were in his car, and by the end of the week, I was in his bed.
It was supposed to be just sex. Just something to pass the time.
But it became more. At least for me it did.
I fell in love with Jerome Clyde. I fell in love with his power, his money, his presence. The way he carried himself like he owned the world because he damn near did. He had his hands in everything, real estate, businesses, politicians. The man was untouchable.
And I wanted to be Mrs. Clyde. I wanted to be the woman on his arm at every event, the one spending his money, living in his mansion, being taken care of the way I deserved. I was tired of just being a hood bitch, I was ready to be wifed up by a real man.
But Jerome never wifed me up, matter of fact he’s never even hinted at it.
For six years, I was the woman he'd call when he wanted company, when he wanted his dick sucked, when he wanted somebody to travel with him. But never his woman. Never his wife.
I used to wonder why. I used to drive myself crazy trying to figure out what I was doing wrong, what I needed to change to make him see me as more than just a good time.
And then one day I saw what was stopping me from becoming his wife. I was at the Hilton downtown, meeting a friend for lunch, when I saw him. Mr. Clyde was sitting in the restaurant, all dressed up in a suit looking fine as hell but he wasn't alone.
There was a girl with him. She was young, matter of fact too young in my opinion. She was pretty with long hair, and thick in all the right places. And the way he was looking at her, the way he was leaning in close, touching her hand, smiling at her like she was the only person in the world. I knew she was the reason, why he treated me the way he did. He was in love with her young ass.
I watched them for twenty minutes, hiding behind a column like a fool, so he couldn’t see me. I was watching the man I loved, the man I'd given years to, wining and dining this young bitch like she was special.
When they finally left, I followed them to the parking garage. I watched him kiss her. I watched him open her car door. I watched him watch her drive away with this look on his face I never seen before.
I confronted him that night when I showed up at his condo, and I demanded to know who she was.
"Her name is Yah-Yah," he said calmly, like it was no big deal. "And it's none of your business, Shaunie."
"None of my business?" I snapped. "I've been fucking you for years,Jerome! Years and you never looked at me the way you looked at her today!"
"Because you're not her," he said coldly. "You're fun, Shaunie. You're good company. But you're not the one."
Those words broke something in me and it shattered me completely.
"And she is?" I asked, my voice shaking.
"She could be," he said. "If I play my cards right."
I left that night humiliated, heartbroken, and furious. And when I found out later that this Yah-Yah bitch was seeing my son, I almost lost my fucking mind.
She had Jerome's heart. And now she had my son's heart too. And I hated her for it. I hated her with everything in me.
When Yah-Yah got pregnant, I knew it was my chance. I called Jerome, invited him over, poured him a drink, and planted the seed.
"You know Sosa and Yah-Yah are having a baby," I said casually.
"I heard," he said, not sounding particularly interested.
"You ever think about the timing?" I asked, swirling my wine, He looked at me.
"What are you getting at, Shaunie?"
"I'm saying... what if that baby isn't Sosa's? What if it's yours?"
"What?"
