Page 65 of The Wright Man

Then I sank into the mattress, still in my dress, clutching Maleek's gift like it was something holy.

I didn't want to need him again.

But some part of me knew I did.

Chapter Ten

Angelica

When They Were 17…

It rained on the day Dana Wright died.

It rained harder at her funeral.

Not just a drizzle, either. Not a gentle mist like the movies. No—this was the kind of rain that shook the earth. Thunder that cracked open the sky like it was grieving too. Lightning streaked across the clouds like fury, like anguish.

And through it all, I remember thinking: Even God is crying.

Her decline came quick. Too damn quick.

Six months from diagnosis to goodbye. Her Year of Yes cut in half, barely enough time to take a breath.

And when she left us—peacefully, they said—I didn't believe it.

Peaceful wasn't how it felt.

It felt violent. Like somebody ripped open the center of the world and left us dangling.

The Wright boys didn't cry like men. They cried like children, lost without their mother. Kareem, usually so sure and sharp, folded in on himself. Maleek—my Maleek—screamed when the casket hit the earth. Sobbed so hard I thought his lungs would collapse. He clung to Kareem like they were five and eight again, both of them shaking, both of them broken in a way I'd never seen before.

Their brother Andre didn't come. Neither did their father.

And the boys never mentioned it. Never asked where they were. They just stood a little taller, a little colder, like they were adding that betrayal to the pile.

The Reed girls? We didn't do much better.

Tina, usually the strongest of us, fainted in the grass. That image is burned into my brain—the strong one, the one who never lets anyone see her crumble, on her knees in the mud.

She booked a one-way ticket to New York two days later. Said it was "for content," but I knew better. She was running. That's what Tina did when shit hurt too bad—she moved.

Bella stopped talking for three whole days. Then started fighting again—throwing tantrums, storming out, slamming doors like she had at ten. Like she was testing the world to see if it'd leave her too.

Daddy got quiet. Quieter than I'd ever seen him.

He stood beside the Wright boys like a soldier, holding umbrellas that didn't do a damn thing against the downpour. When they lowered the casket, he whispered, "Goodnight, D." Real soft. Then walked away before anybody could see the tears on his cheeks.

He never said much about their relationship, but we knew. Dana used to call him her "platonic co-parent." Said they were "raising five between them and trying not to lose their minds." They had something special. No rings. No romance. Just love in a language most people don't understand.

I carried it all... I carried it for weeks.

Until I couldn't take it anymore.

I packed a bag—Calypsos, Hot Cheetos, sour straws, mango hair grease, and Ms. Dana's old comb. Then I walked across the street, like I had a thousand times before, and knocked on a door that used to open with a smile.

Three knocks. Then one softer.

It was Maleek who opened it.