Page 59 of Roman Blake
I looked up.
My chest pulled tight.
“That’s Mo,” I said quietly. “My wife.”
She stared at the picture like she was tryna memorize it. “I never… I never really looked around in here before.”
“‘Cause we never made it this far,” I said, tryin’ to joke, but my voice came out rough.
She ignored that.
“She was pretty,” Melissa said. “Y’all look happy.”
“We were,” I said.
The room felt different now.
Her anger was still there, but it slid to the side, makin’ room for somethin’ else.
She turned toward me. “You never really told me the whole story,” she said. “You gave me pieces. Saint Lucia. You said you lost her, you lost a baby. But… I don’t know what actually happened.”
My throat tightened.
I looked at the pictures again, then at her.
“It was our second anniversary,” I started, sittin’ down across from her. “I thought I could mix business with vacation. Handle some shit in Italy, then celebrate. I promised her it was the last time I was takin’ the streets with me on a trip.”
Melissa’s eyes stayed on me, quiet.
“I went to meet with some people,” I continued. “Thought it’d be in and out. Instead, they tried to set me up when I said I was done. We got into it. Shots fired. I made it out, but by the time I got back to the villa…”
My voice cracked a little.
I swallowed and pushed through it.
“By the time I got back, they was already there. Bodies everywhere. My men dead. One of theirs runnin’ down the beach. Mo on the sand… bleedin’ out.”
Melissa’s hand flew to her mouth.
“She told me they was waitin’ on me,” I said, jaw tight. “Said she ain’t wanna tell me ‘bout the baby till it was perfect. She was gon’ tell me that night.”
The image flashed in my head so clear it almost knocked the air out my chest.
Her touchin’ her stomach.
Her sayin’,I’m pregnant.
“I tried to keep her here,” I said. “Held her. Begged her. But she died right there in my arms. Both of ‘em. My wife and my kid. ‘Cause of some shit tied to my name.”
A tear slid down Melissa’s cheek before she could catch it.
I looked away, blinkin’ hard.
“That’s why I went to Saint Lucia,” I said. “First time was for our honeymoon. Second time…” I shook my head. “Second time I just needed to breathe somewhere that didn’t smell like her blood.”
She sniffed, wipin’ her face. “And now it’s her birthday,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I said, voice low. “Been sittin’ on my chest all week. I keep thinkin’ ‘bout what she’d look like now, what our kid would’ve been. If I’d really got to be a father. If I’d retired sooner. If I’d never took that meetin’.”
