Adair stood too. “Sabine?—”
She held up a hand. “Don’t. Don’t beg me not to.”
“You’re my wife,” he said, voice cracking. “This is our home. You can’t just take our son and walk out.”
Sabine’s eyes glinted with something near madness. “Watch me.”
Adair lunged. Not to hurt—but to hold. To beg. To remind her of the life they built.
But the damage had long been done.
“Don’t touch me!” she shoved him back. The shout cracked through the quiet like lightning.From the now open bedroom door—crying.
Ade.
“See what you did!” Sabine picked her baby up, cradling him in her arms, apologizing profusely. She went back to the storm that was now their living room, in search of her phone. It was well past midnight, but she needed to go.
Adair’s eyes glistened, watching his wife protectively hold their son as if he would hurt him. Hurt her. That shit cut deep because even if not physically, he did hurt them. He ruined his family.
Sabine’s thumb hovered over Narri’s contact for only a second before pressing. It rang once.
Twice.
“Girl? You okay?” Narri’s voice came groggy but alert.
“I’m so sorry for calling this late,” Sabine breathed out, her voice trembling. “I just…can you come get me? Please?”
She broke on that last word. The “please” scraped its way out of her throat like it had to fight through every instance she’dspent being strong.There was a rustling sound on the other end. Narri was already getting up.
“Say less. Where’s Ade? Is he with you?”
“He’s fine. He was crying but he’s okay now,” Sabine whispered, running a shaky hand over her son’s curls as he curled into her arms.
From across the room, Adair paced like a man being caged. “Narri don’t need to come to this fuckin’ house. You not leavin’ me, you not taking my son, Sabine.”
Narri didn’t miss a beat. “Fuck you, nigga! My friend calls, I’m comin’! And Ade go wherever the fuck she do!”
In the background, Tate’s voice cut in. “Yo, what the hell is going on?”
“Your bitch-ass friend hurt my friend, and I’m going to get her!” Narri shouted without pause. Mind you, she grew up in the same upper echelon community as Sabine, but somehow, being with Tate turned her into something else. “Tell him don’t say nothin’ to me unless he want smoke.”
Adair raked both hands down his face, staring at the ceiling like it could answer for him. “Sabine…please. We can fix this. Don’t leave like this. Don’t take my son out this house.”
“I told you not to beg me,” she said, her voice empty now. “I’m not staying here tonight and if you try to stop me again, I’ll scream loud enough to wake the building.”
She was done arguing.
Ade was somehow falling back to sleep amidst the chaos. She laid him on the couch, covering him with the same blankie he’d dragged out earlier. His body curled toward the armrest; little fist balled under his chin. Sabine brushed a kiss over his curls and turned toward the back of the apartment.
Adair watched her disappear down the hall. The back of the apartment never felt so far. He walked to Ade, croucheddown, and gently kissed the top of his son’s head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Daddy so sorry man.”
Then he stood, wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand, and followed his wife down the hallway, toward the bedroom. Toward the fight. Toward the last chance to hold onto whatever was left.
But Sabine was done.
SABINE
The café was small. Sabine liked it for that reason—unassuming, unpretentious, and full of real food. Not curated plates and cold smiles. She stirred her iced tea with the tip of her straw. Across from her, Parthenia sat upright in a beige silk blouse and soft gold hoops, her wedding ring catching the sunlight like it was trying to be noticed. They hadn’t done this in a while. Lunch. Talking. Trying to be sisters.