Never

I scanned the room, my eyes narrowing as I hunted for Nathan; he had completely vanished. Dropping to my knees, I peered beneath the sofa cushions. Nothing. Where on earth could he be hiding now? This game of hide-and-seek was proving more challenging than ever, and I couldn’t help but admire how skilled he’d become at evading me.

Moving to the bedroom, then the kitchen, the bathroom—I even glanced into the bathtub—either Nathan had become a master of concealment or I’d misplaced him entirely. “Nathan!” I called out, frustration edging my voice as I returned to the living room once more, peering through the window where daylight streamed in. My fingers raked through my hair in exasperation.

I paused, listening closely as a familiar giggle drifted through the air—it was Nathan’s telltale sign that I was closing in. My gaze swept toward the heavy drapes skimming the floor, and there they were: tiny toes peeking out from beneath the fabric. A smirk tugged at my lips as I muttered, “You little sneaky evader.”

I crept silently towards the drapes and swiftly pulled back the heavy fabric. He let out a delighted shriek as I swept him into my arms, burying my face in the warm curve of his neck to blow a playful raspberry that sent him into fits of giggles.

“You little imp,” I chuckled, playfully rolling with him on the carpet. “You nearly had me convinced you’d vanished.” His eyes sparkled as he bounced up. “Mommy, hide now!” he urged eagerly.

As our game of hide and seek continued, I deliberately chose a less-than-perfect spot behind the recliner, allowing Nathan to discover me almost immediately. We kept trading places—him darting off to new corners while I followed suit—until eventually I declared it was time for a snack break.

In the kitchen, I set about preparing our snack while Nathan perched on a chair, nibbling happily. His little legs swung back and forth with restless energy. I smiled at his appearance—the adorable waves of his light brown hair framed a sweet face that blended both mine and his father’s features. Most striking were those magnificent blue eyes, unmistakably inherited from his father, sparkling with mischief as he ate.

A sheen of moisture gathered in my eyes as I considered how proud Nathan’s father would have been of our son—a bright, mischievous boy brimming with joy and intelligence. I chuckled softly, sipping my coffee while watching Nathan relish his sandwich.

I still worked at Sedgwick & Marlowe, taking Nathan to his morning playgroup before heading to the office and picking him up afterward. Over the years Warren had been incredibly supportive, making sure we were both well cared for. Some time ago he’d given me a substantial raise, and in return I remained committed to excelling in my role as an accountant.

Five years after losing my husband, I still hadn’t fully settled into life without him; in Nathan’s bright smile and curious spirit, I saw echoes of the man I’d loved so deeply. Tanya and Nia remained constant fixtures in our lives, visiting often to share laughter and memories. When Nia married a kind-hearted white man, tears streamed down my face during the ceremony—a bittersweet blend of happiness for her joy and sorrow for all we had endured.

I had withdrawn from active protests, unable to bring myself to join another march after that tragic day which claimed my husband’s life. Yet I persisted with Unfiltered Dialogues—though the focus had shifted. My conversations now centered on Nathan, the joys and trials of raising him alone while seeing glimpses of his father in every smile and gesture. The podcast served as both a chronicle of single motherhood and a tribute to the love we once shared.

My audience had shrunk since those early days, mostly older folks balancing parenting with their careers. The feedback I received now carried warmth and support rather than the venom I once faced. I knew I no longer possessed the fortitude to endure such hostility.

The doorbell rang just then. I rose from my seat, pausing to tousle Nathan’s hair affectionately as I walked by. When I opened the front door, there was Justin waiting with a warm smile. “Hey Kiara,” he greeted me as we hugged briefly. “Hi Justin,” I replied, stepping aside to welcome him inside.

During those five years, Justin had become a steadfast presence in my life, though we intentionally maintained boundaries in any romantic sense. We shared an unspoken agreement—one where I deeply valued his unwavering support and help along the way.

“Where’s that little troublemaker?” he teased, glancing around as Nathan burst out from the kitchen. “Uncle Justin!” the boy shouted, launching himself into Justin’s open arms. With a broad grin, Justin lifted him high above his head. “How’s my little soldier doing today?” he asked affectionately.

I smiled, watching Nathan’s joyful reaction to Justin. He filled that void in Nathan’s life, offering guidance and affection like a devoted father would. From birthdays to soccer games, Justin never missed an opportunity to be there for him.

“Did you finish your sandwich, Nathan?” I asked. He gave a quick nod before shaking his head after my follow-up question. “C’mon, big guy—let’s not upset you Momma,” Justin added gently as he guided Nathan toward the kitchen.

I followed them to the kitchen, “Coffee? Justin?” I asked as he nodded in appreciation, “I would love one” he said as I poured him a cup from the pot.

“How’s work?” I asked him, “Oh you know, just sorting out bugs and stuff, the usual” he remarked. That generally meant computer stuff, till this day I had no idea what he talked about when discussing his work.

“You know who I met the other day?” he asked. I glanced up from pouring his coffee, intrigued by the sudden question. “Jade,” he stated matter-of-factly as I handed him his mug. My expression faltered at hearing that name. “Really?” I exclaimed, my eyes widening with surprise. Jade—the young woman who had once rallied marchers, the same person who had convinced me to take charge during those final days of university.

“So what has she been up to these days?” I asked, then adding, “Is she still that fierce activist?” He chuckled. “Well, once she was, but since you took her limelight, she couldn’t match your ferocity,” he said.

“I think she underestimated you,” Justin continued, his tone sincere. “She could draw crowds, sure enough, but it was you who gave everything meaning—you were the one who brought about real change.” A faint smile touched my lips as I lowered my gaze, the weight of his words settling heavily upon me. “Those days are over,” I murmured softly, haunted by the memory of how much I had sacrificed… how my relentless fight for justice had ultimately cost me the life of my husband.

“She’s married with a couple of kids now,” he continued, “but she never found another purpose beyond fighting. Her degree didn’t amount to much—she ended up stuck in a dead-end job earning minimal wage. You, on the other hand, focused on building your career alongside your activism.”

“In the end,” Justin said, “you knew how to take care of things.” He paused briefly before continuing, “Is she still fighting?” I asked, my voice softening with curiosity. “She doesn’t have time,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Two kids, the father also working minimal wage—it’s too much to handle.”

“I always admired Jade,” I admitted, “and deep down, I aspired to be like her.” With a reflective pause, he countered, “I never perceived it that way—I recognized your potential long before you connected with Jade. I got swept up in this movement too, though my passion wasn’t activism; programming was always my true calling.” My smile lingered softly at his words.

“Well, thanks to you Unfiltered Dialogues had been running for a long time, I can’t thank you enough,” I said quietly. “It was an honor,” he replied, his tone sincere yet humble. “I realized that I wasn’t as skilled as I thought—the amount I have learned through my job is immense.”

“Do you have any plans tonight?” he asked. I glanced toward Nathan. “Yes, I’m taking him to visit his grandparents,” I explained, nodding toward Nathan’s eager expression. Across from me, he acknowledged with a slight tilt of his head as Nathan chirped happily, “Yeah! Nana and Grand Papa!” His bright smile lit up the room.

Justin leaned closer, his tone earnest as he murmured, “Despite all you’ve endured, Kiara—everyone admires you. You’re the one they strive to emulate. Should you choose to lead again, they’ll stand beside you without hesitation.” Though I knew he spoke with genuine care, I couldn’t shake the weariness settling deep within me. “I appreciate your words,” I replied quietly, “but I’m done fighting—it only brought me pain.”

​After securing Nathan in his car seat, I leaned close to whisper, “We’re off to see Nana and Grand Papa, baby.” With a soft click of the buckle, I brushed a tender kiss on his cheek before sliding into the driver’s seat.

As I navigated the streets, my thoughts drifted to Nathan’s parents. Though I had managed to bring little Nathan to visit them a few times, the demands of cross-country travel meant those moments were too infrequent for my liking. Still, I made sure to maintain a strong connection through regular video calls, and Nathan always brightened at the chance to see his grandparents on screen.

They had been deeply moved when I chose to name their grandson Nathan—a small tribute that carried great meaning. And whenever they looked into his eyes, they swore they could see glimpses of their son, cherishing every moment with their beloved grandchild.

​“Papa!” Nathan shouted with unrestrained joy as my father crouched low, his arms opening wide to gather his grandson in a warm embrace. “How is my little boy?” he murmured softly, his voice thick with affection. My mother soon joined in, wrapping Nathan in her gentle arms as she welcomed her beloved grandson.

“Nana? Chocolate?” Nathan asked with bright-eyed eagerness, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes—knowing exactly how this would unfold. “Of course, sweetheart,” Mom replied warmly, her fond indulgence unmistakable. “Don’t give him too much mom,” I cautioned as she took his tiny hand, leading him toward the promise of treats in the kitchen.

I wrapped my arms around Dad, feeling the familiar comfort of his embrace. “How are you, princess?” he murmured, his voice warm and tender. I offered a quiet nod, my gaze meeting his as I replied softly, “I’m doing well.” Settling beside him on the sofa, I felt his hand gently envelop mine.

He paused for a moment before speaking again, his expression filled with sincere affection. “It’s truly wonderful to have you and Nathan here more often,” he said quietly, squeezing my hand with a reassuring pressure. “It means so much to your mother and me.” A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I listened, warmed by the depth of his words.

“Nathan loves you, he’s so happy here,” I said as he skipped back in clutching a candy bar, chocolate already smudged across his grinning lips. “No more chocolate before dinner, Nathan,” I warned though he continued munching away without pause.

My mother settled on the other side of me, her voice tender as she asked, “How are you, dear?” Their questions remained constant each visit, yet the unspoken weight behind them lingered—a quiet understanding of my struggle to keep composed for Nathan’s sake.

“I’m doing okay mom,” I managed, my voice steadying as I fought to maintain composure. The threat of tears pressed heavily against my resolve, and I knew one misstep could unleash them. Meanwhile, Nathan sat transfixed before the television, utterly absorbed in his cartoon, blissfully unaware of my fragile state despite sitting far too near the screen.

“I get my strength from Nathan, I don’t know what I’d do without him,” I said quietly, my voice thick with emotion. “Five years might seem a lot,” Dad murmured softly, “but it’s nothing—pain doesn’t leave you; it just eases over time.”

​Monday I sat at my desk at work after dropping off Nathan at the playgroup. My position here at Sedgewick & Marlowe allowed me to afford the steep fees for childcare—a luxury most single mothers, especially African American women, simply couldn’t manage.

Not long after losing Nathan, Warren had brought in someone new to fill the void—Robert Donovan now occupying what used to be my husband’s seat. An older gentleman in his fifties with decades of experience under his belt. A kind man, but the idea of him stepping into Nathan’s role still weighed heavy on me.

I’d had numerous meetings with Robert to review case expenses and financial matters. He was fully informed about Nathan and me, our marriage, the tragic loss, and that he was essentially filling the void left behind.

Initially, Robert approached me with a guarded demeanor, his caution evident in every interaction. Yet, despite those early reservations, we developed a strong rapport based on mutual respect and professionalism. His expertise was undeniable—he handled every matter with precision and competence.

Aware of the lingering memories associated with that particular workspace, he often suggested relocating to a conference room whenever we needed to collaborate closely.

Although my activist days were behind me, I remained vigilant about the news. I discreetly followed certain groups online, keeping tabs on developments. Injustice still ran rampant—the gentrification of Harwell Heights proceeded without delay, our protest had been swiftly suppressed, and Nathan had paid the ultimate sacrifice.

The police presence with their riot gear wasn’t about caution—it was orchestrated. They knew we were coming and intended to disperse us regardless of how peaceful we remained. And the state made its allegiances clear; they backed the corporations, funneling resources to ensure they didn’t disappoint their billionaire backers.

Harwell Heights was gone, its vibrant community shattered as hundreds were forced out, unable to keep up with rising rents. Many ended up on the streets, exactly as I had feared. Still, I did what I could to help—I started a fund to support those who’d lost their homes, and I kept it going.

Derek seized the moment amid the turmoil to plunge a knife into Nathan’s back. During his subsequent trial, he received a life sentence for murder; his lawyers attempted to argue for manslaughter, but I testified to confirm that his actions were likely calculated from the start, leading the jury to reject any claim of accidental homicide.

He stole the only person I ever truly loved—my soulmate and Nathan’s father—from this world. No way would I allow him to escape responsibility for that murder.

Since that tragic day, I swore to never speak his name aloud. I wished for him to endure every imaginable torment within those prison walls, refusing to entertain any notion of redemption. As far as I was concerned, I hoped he would decay there until his final breath.

Justin’s companionship had been a solace, though I sensed his unspoken affections lingered beneath the surface. Yet he honored boundaries, never imposing or pressuring me. He was a wonderful influence on Nathan, who adored him deeply. As memories of my little boy surfaced, my vision swam with tears—he would never know the man who should have been his father.

Tanya had cautioned me about keeping Justin close, insisting that his presence couldn’t last indefinitely. She urged me to decide: either release him to live his own life or pursue a romantic relationship with him.

The idea had crossed my mind, but an unseen force held me back—a lingering sense that Nathan’s memory watched over me, as though moving forward would dishonor his legacy.

I received a call from the playgroup, rolling my eyes as I wondered what trivial issue had arisen this time. It always seemed to be some problem with those people—they couldn’t handle the children without panicking. I answered, “Miss Washington?” they asked. “Yes, speaking,” I replied. Their voice continued, “There’s been an incident at the playgroup involving Nathan.” My concern heightened immediately as I demanded in a panicked tone, “What’s happened?”

​As I left work early with the complete support of Warren, I had so much respect for him, he understood everything.

I met with the caregiver just outside the playroom door, where the children’s laughter and chatter drifted through the air. Her expression turned serious as she explained, “Nathan’s been showing some aggression lately.” My forehead creased with concern as I pressed her for details, my voice sharpening to a stern edge. “What exactly do you mean?”

“Today he kicked one of the other children,” she stated flatly, and disbelief washed over me. My sweet little Nathan, attacking another child? The thought felt alien, impossible. “Why?” I pressed, my voice tight with confusion. “It’s not a matter of why Miss Washington,” she countered firmly, “he physically attacked which is a concern.”

“There has to be a reason,” I insisted sharply, my voice edged with frustration. “My son wouldn’t just lash out like that—what happened?” Even as the words left my mouth, the caregiver mentioned that the other boy, who was white, had said something to provoke Nathan.

“Where’s Nathan now?” I demanded, my voice laced with urgency. She guided me down the hall to a small room where they’d isolated him alone. Fury surged through me at their decision to separate my child. Inside, I found Nathan sitting despondently on a chair, his face stained with tears. “Nathan!” I called out. At the sound of my voice, he turned and rushed into my arms, burying his face in my chest as I held him close.

“Are you okay baby?” I murmured softly as I cradled Nathan in my arms. He shook his head, his voice trembling as he explained, “Daniel said I wasn’t allowed to play with them.” My eyes widened in disbelief. “Why would he say that?” I pressed gently. Nathan shrugged, looking confused. “I don’t know,” he answered quietly.

My mind raced as I considered what might have happened. “Did you kick him?” I asked cautiously. Nathan hesitated before nodding slowly, his expression heavy with regret. “He pushed me away and I kicked him in the leg,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Then he started crying.” I let out a heavy sigh, struggling to process everything as I held my son close.

Taking Nathan’s small hand firmly in mine, I marched us both out of the isolation room. Turning sharply to face the caregiver, my gaze hardened as I delivered my verdict. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” I stated with measured intensity. “That boy Daniel initiated the physical confrontation first, and your responsibility was to supervise them properly—not to leave my son isolated like some kind of criminal. And never, under any circumstances, will you separate Nathan from others in that manner again. Do I make myself absolutely clear?”

The caregiver nodded in agreement, her face flushing slightly and guilt clouding her expression. What on earth did she think would happen—that I’d scold my own son for defending himself? The thought burned within me, bitter and sharp: I knew Nathan had been discriminated against. Considering what this playgroup cost us, they ought to have known better than to isolate him over a typical childish dispute.

​At home, I cradled Nathan in my arms on the sofa, his small head nestled against my chest as I gently twisted his soft curls between my fingers. I pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, my heart swelling with love and sorrow. He had no understanding that he occupied a space between worlds—not quite like the white children nor fully like the black ones. In his innocent mind, he simply existed somewhere in the middle, unaware of how society sought to define him.

The thought of Nia came to my mind—how I had invited her onto my podcast where she opened up about her experience as a mixed-race woman. Before then, I had harbored prejudices against her because of her lighter complexion. She explained how she constantly tried to fit in with both white and black communities yet somehow felt she belonged fully to neither.

My eyes stung with unshed tears as I considered Nathan facing those same struggles as he grew older. But I vowed to surround him with unwavering love and reassurance—no matter how the world tried to define him, he belonged to all of us.

At that moment, I pulled out my phone and dialed my mother-in-law. She picked up right away, her voice warm as she greeted me. “Hi Kiara,” she said affectionately. “How’s my grandson doing?” A smile spread across my face despite everything. But as we talked, she must have heard the strain in my voice. “Is everything alright, sweetie?” she asked gently, noticing my unsteady breath over the line.

“Nathan was treated differently at the playgroup today,” I said hesitantly, unsure how she would react. My first meeting with Nathan’s parents had centered on raising mixed-race children and the challenges they might face, leaving me to wonder if those old biases still lingered beneath her warm demeanor.

“In what way?” my mother-in-law asked. I hesitated, carefully choosing my words. “I believe he was discriminated against.” After I spoke those heavy words, silence stretched across the line. Then her concerned voice broke through. “Is he okay?” she asked softly. I confirmed that he had calmed down now before explaining how he’d been singled out and separated into a different room following an altercation with another child.

“Oh my God, poor Nathan, how dare they treat him that way,” she exclaimed. My vision blurred as tears pooled in my eyes. “You don’t think I’m to blame for this happening to him, do you?” I whispered across the connection. Another weighted pause hung in the air before her gentle inquiry came through: “What do you mean?”

I recounted the moment they first laid eyes on me and Nathan together, detailing their remarks about having a mixed-race child. “Kiara dear,” she reassured me with unwavering conviction, “we love Nathan to bits, he is perfect, and you are a great mother. If there are challenges ahead, we’re ready to stand beside you and fight them all the way, understand?” I nodded silently as my voice emerged thick with emotion, “I understand.”

Those words were precisely what I needed to hear. My emotions swirled intensely within me, desperate for validation, and my mother-in-law alone could provide that comfort given our complex history.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice trembling slightly with lingering emotion. Her tone shifted then, turning warm and expectant as she pressed, “When are we going to see our grandson?” A small laugh escaped me despite the weight of our conversation. “Soon,” I promised with quiet certainty.

As evening settled in, I finished preparing dinner for Nathan and myself. The doorbell chimed through the house, and when I opened the door, Justin stood there with his familiar smile. It always lifted my spirits to see him. “Hey Kiara,” he greeted warmly as he stepped inside, wrapping me in a comforting hug.

As I ushered him inside, Nathan’s face lit up with pure joy. He leapt into Justin’s arms, nearly knocking him off balance as he clung tight. Watching their bond made my chest tighten with emotion; I blinked back tears, overwhelmed by the genuine affection between them. “You’re the closest thing to a father he has,” I confessed softly, my voice catching. Justin met my gaze, his expression warm yet earnest. “I’m honored,” he murmured in return, holding Nathan close.

I continued preparing dinner while my phone vibrated with an incoming call from an unfamiliar number. “Who’s that?” Justin asked as I glanced at the screen, shaking my head in uncertainty before answering cautiously. “Hello?” I said hesitantly.

A woman’s voice answered, “Is this Kiara?” she asked as my forehead creased in confusion. “Yes,” I confirmed, just as she followed up with, “Unfiltered Dialogues Kiara?” I paused, uncertain—my podcast had been dormant for some time now. After a brief hesitation, I simply replied, “It is.”

“My name is Shakira, and I’ve been wanting to call you for ages,” she began, her voice betraying admiration. After a deliberate pause, she continued carefully, “My then fiancé and I attended your march five years ago.” My pulse quickened at the memory.

“We live in Miami,” Shakira explained, her voice softening with nostalgia. “My then fiancé and I came to that march specifically to see you... we’d been listening to your podcast for months.” She paused deliberately before adding, “...and when your husband called out for people to protect you, we stepped forward.” I remained silent, absorbing her words as Justin glanced over curiously. Her tone grew more emotional as she continued, “We watched you cradle Nathan in your arms...” I swallowed hard at the vivid memory, and Justin tilted his head with a questioning look.

As Shakira uttered those heartfelt words, I felt a sudden tightness in my throat, struggling to hold back tears. “I’m so sorry Kiara,” she whispered, her voice laden with regret, “I wish we could have done something.” The weight of her apology settled deep within me, and I let out a slow, heavy breath.

I murmured, “I appreciate it,” then heard a man’s voice in the background, his accent unfamiliar as he asked, “Who’s that baby?” Shakira quickly apologized, explaining, “That’s my husband Simon—he was there too. We both loved you and Nathan on the podcasts.”

“He doesn’t sound American,” I remarked, prompting her explanation. “Oh, he’s British—came over here and completely won me over with that utterly irresistible accent,” she added with a laugh, which drew a chuckle from me as well.

Then Shakira continued, “I was right there in front with you when you used the megaphone.” I narrowed my eyes slightly. “Wait—you weren’t the one wearing that crop top military outfit, were you?” I asked. After a brief hesitation, she replied, “Yes, that was me. You’ve got quite a memory.”

I laughed softly, “For some reason, it stayed in my mind.” In the background, I heard Simon’s voice again as he asked in surprise, “Are you speaking to Kiara?” Shakira quickly retorted, “Shut up Simon,” causing another chuckle to escape me. Undeterred, Simon pressed on with a hopeful tone, “Can I speak with her?” My smile grew even wider at their playful exchange.

“Oh come on, it’s not every day I get to talk to a celebrity,” I heard him say. “Don’t make me slap you again,” she shot back playfully. “It would be worth it,” he bantered in return. Just then Shakira began apologizing—“Sorry Kiara, my husband wants...“—but I cut in before she could finish. “Put him on,” I insisted with a growing smile.

I heard Simon say, “Hello Kiara?” his British accent striking me as both foreign and charming. “Hello Simon,” I replied with a smile. From the background came Shakira’s teasing remark, “He’s acting like a schoolgirl.” Simon chuckled softly before hushing her with a playful “Shhh baby, I’m speaking.” Turning his attention back to me, he added warmly, “Kiara, it’s truly lovely to hear your voice.”

“Are you white Simon?” I asked as he hesitated. “Uhh, yes,” he replied. A smile spread across my face. “I think I remember you too—from when you stood beside Shakira.” Just then, Simon turned excitedly toward Shakira. “She remembers me!” he exclaimed as she listened nearby. Curious, I leaned in with a playful grin. “So tell me, how exactly did you win this sister’s heart?”

“It’s genuinely a long story, but throughout our time together, we’ve been listening to your podcasts. I felt a real connection with Nathan; I’m truly sorry for what happened. Both Shakira and I were deeply upset by it,” he explained as tears once again filled my eyes. “Thank you Simon, you two are very kind.”

Shakira took the phone and said, “We were thinking of coming down to Georgia sometime, maybe we could meet up for coffee?” I nodded, replying warmly, “I would love to meet you both.” She responded with a smile in her voice, “It’s been great talking to you.” I finished our conversation by saying, “You too my sister,” and heard her light giggle over the line.

After hanging up, Justin turned to me with a curious tilt of his head. “That sounded interesting,” he remarked, and I nodded slowly. “It was definitely a strange call but fascinating,” I replied, still absorbing the unexpected connection.

The following evening, as twilight settled over the city, Nia and Tanya joined me at my place. Nathan, lost in his imaginative world of toys, played in the living room where we gathered comfortably on the sofa. The air buzzed with our laughter and easy conversation as we savored each other’s company during those moments before bedtime rituals began.

“So Justin has been around a lot I hear,” Tanya remarked casually, and I nodded with a soft smile. “Nathan loves him,” I added, glancing fondly at my son absorbed in his play. Nearby, Nia watched Nathan with a tender smile spreading across her face.

Tanya then said “And you?” she asked. I knew what she meant—was Justin someone I would consider getting involved with romantically again? I hadn’t been involved with him since our university days.

“I truly enjoy having him around, losing his presence would devastate me.” I paused, knowing Tanya anticipated my hesitation. “But... I simply don’t see it—I can’t muster those feelings, even though part of me wishes I could.”

Nia interjected softly, her tone measured as she tried to reason with Tanya. “She’s been so caught up with Nathan, her work, and everything else—she’s always busy,” she explained gently.

Tanya sighed, “Then you should sit and have a talk with him, tell him how you feel,” she said as I replied, “If he truly wanted, he would have made his move by now. Why wait all this time? Maybe he’s gay.”

Tanya scoffed dismissively. “He ain’t gay girl—he’s just different. He clearly enjoys being around you and Nathan, it feels like a safe haven for him, but without the sex.”

“You’re right, I don’t want to mislead him,” I hesitated briefly before adding, “I’ll speak with him.”

Turning to Nathan, I announced gently, “Baby, it’s time for bed.” In response, he flung his arms out dramatically and cried in exasperation, “Why!!!”

At work, just before lunch, I called Justin. He answered within a few rings, never leaving me hanging. “Hey Kiara,” he said, his tone immediately concerned. “Everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine, Justin,” I said, carefully concealing my true purpose. “I was just wondering if you planned to stop by tonight.” He paused, then replied cautiously, “Uhm, I didn’t have plans to come by tonight—I’ve got something going on.”

“Oh,” I responded, taken aback by his refusal since he rarely turned down my invitations. After a brief silence, he offered, “I can cancel it.” My thoughts raced, pondering what commitments might occupy him. I quickly dismissed the notion. “No, don’t do that—it’s not important. I don’t want to interfere with whatever you have going on.”

Curiosity gnawed at me until I blurted, “A date?” Another drawn-out silence followed before he haltingly replied, “I’m not sure—it’s a coworker I’ve collaborated with, we’re grabbing a drink.”

“A girl?” I pressed, fully aware I was crossing a line yet unable to restrain myself. “Yes,” he confirmed plainly before hastily adding, “It’s not what it looks like...” I interjected firmly, “Justin, you owe me no explanations—this isn’t my concern. You deserve to live your life too.”

After ending the call, I remained at my desk. A peculiar unease settled in my chest as I acknowledged—even if only to myself—that I had secretly presumed Justin would always be there.

For Nathan.

For me.