Mehar
Two months later
My baby was finally home.
It was the sentence I’d been waiting to say for over two months.
Two months of scrubbing my hands raw before I could touch her.
Two months of watching her through plastic, counting her breaths, memorizing the rhythm of the machines that kept her alive.
Two months of leaving the NICU every night with my arms empty and my chest so tight I couldn’t breathe.
I’d hold it together until I got to the car.
Then I’d fall apart where nobody could see me.
But today Aziza was in her nursery. In the crib that Prime helped put together, wearing the onesie Serenity bought before she was even born.
My baby had gone from three pounds to almost eight, with chunky thighs, round cheeks, and a full head of dark curly hair that she got from me.
I’d washed her sheets three times before I let her sleep on them because once wasn’t enough and twice still didn’t feel right.
She was here. She was healthy. She was proof that God wasn’t finished with us yet.
The house was loud with the voices of people I loved. It felt full and alive. It was the most beautiful noise I’d ever heard.
Zainab had taken over my kitchen and I didn’t protest. She had her cinnamon rolls in the oven, the bourbon pecan ones that made grown men act like children, and the smell had filled every room in the house.
Yusef was at the counter helping her drizzle the glaze while Idris sat in his high chair banging a wooden spoon against the tray like he was conducting an orchestra.
Kheris in the living room crawling around from family member to family member.
“Girl, these rolls are not going to last,” I told Zainab as I peeked into the oven. The butter was bubbling, seducing me to bite.
“I made four dozen,” she said. “If that’s not enough for this family, they can fight over the last one.”
Justice was out on the back patio with Quest and Prime.
I could see them through the sliding glass door, drinks in hand, laughing about something.
It was strange to see them like that. Relaxed.
No war to plan, no enemies to hunt, no late-night calls about who needed to disappear.
Just three brothers standing in the sun drinking Banks Reserve and talking shit.
I didn’t know what they were laughing about but it didn’t matter. The sound of it was enough.
Storie and Dream were back from Pittsburgh.
Dream sang songs to Aziza while she slept.
Storie was on the couch scrolling through her phone, which was exactly where Storie always was.
She’d said congratulations when she walked in and it sounded like she was reading it off a cue card.
Justice caught it too. I saw his jaw tighten for half a second before he let it go.
Serenity held Sarai, staring at her lovingly.
Her face was fuller, her smile came easier, and she had this calm about her that hadn’t been there before.
She’d been through hell this year. They all had.
But standing in my kitchen with her daughter, and a cinnamon roll in her free hand, she looked like a woman who’d finally exhaled.
“Where’s Rita?” Quest asked, stepping inside from the patio.
“Living room. She’s been listening to the tv since we got here.”
Rita had been having more good days than bad lately.
Justice had gotten her into a specialist in DC who diagnosed her with early-stage dementia.
The word alone had gutted the family. But Rita was trying to stay strong through it all.
She sat in that doctor’s office, listened to every word, folded her hands in her lap, and said, “Well, I’ve had a good run.
Let’s see how much longer the Lord gives me before He starts deleting files.
” The doctor didn’t know what to do with that.
The rest of us laughed because if we didn’t laugh we were going to cry.
Today was a good day. She’d been sharp all morning.
She knew everybody’s name, commented on how big the twins were getting, told Zainab her rolls smelled like heaven, and asked Justice if he was ever going to bring a woman home or if she needed to start looking on “the Facebook” for him.
Justice told her to mind her business. But she told him her business was his business.
She wasn’t dying without seeing all her grandchildren married. Classic Rita.
The afternoon was perfect. We ate too much.
Laughed too loud. Passed babies around like they were party favors.
Quest gave a toast that started with a joke about how Aziza was already the most expensive Banks family member because her hospital bill could’ve bought a house, and ended with him getting choked up about how he almost lost everything on that island.
He looked at me when he said it. I looked at him.
I didn’t need him to say the rest because I was living it. We both were.
It was a day worth memorizing while it was happening because life doesn’t hand them out often.
Then Sarai started to cry.
It was around five o’clock. The sun was dropping and the house had settled into that warm, lazy energy that comes after a big meal.
Serenity had laid Sarai down on a mat while she went to fix a plate.
The cry was nothing unusual. Babies cry.
It was a hungry cry, the short, rhythmic kind that builds until somebody picks them up and handles it.
Rita got to her first.
She moved faster than I expected, scooping Sarai off the mat and cradling her against her chest. At first it looked normal. Grandma picking up a fussy baby. But then I saw her face and my stomach dropped.
Her eyes were somewhere else. She was looking at Sarai but she wasn’t seeing Sarai.
“Something’s wrong with Zulie,” Rita said. Her voice was urgent. Frightened. “We gotta get her down to the colored doctor. Please. We gotta go right now.”
The room went silent. Every conversation, every laugh, every sound just stopped. Quest looked at me. Justice set his drink down. Prime was already crossing the room.
“Grandma.” Serenity came back from the kitchen. “That’s Sarai. That’s my baby. She’s just hungry.”
Rita shook her head, her grip tightening on the baby. “No, this is Zulie. Can’t you see she’s burning up? We gotta get her to the doctor before it gets worse. Please, somebody help me. I don’t want my baby sister to die.”
Her voice cracked on that last word and it broke something in the room. Storie looked up from her phone for the first time in hours. Dream pressed herself into Justice’s side. Zainab covered her mouth with her hand. Yusef just stared at the floor.
Prime reached Rita first. He knelt down in front of her so they were eye level and put his hands over hers.
“Hey, Grandma. Look at me.” His voice was low and calm. “The baby’s okay. I promise you she’s okay. She’s just a little hungry, that’s all. We’re gonna feed her right now and she’s gonna be just fine.”
Rita searched his face. I could see her trying to find something familiar, something to anchor herself to. Whatever she saw in Prime’s eyes must have reached her because her breathing slowed. Her grip loosened just enough.
“She’s okay?” Rita whispered.
“She’s perfect. I promise.”
Serenity set her plate down and moved in slowly.
“I got her, Grandma. See? She’s okay. I’m gonna go feed her right now.” Serenity held Sarai up so Rita could see her face. “She’s perfect. You kept her safe.”
Rita’s eyes cleared slowly, like fog lifting off water. She blinked a few times. Looked around the room at all of us staring at her and I could see the moment she realized something had happened. Something she couldn’t remember. That confusion, that quiet shame, was worse than the episode itself.
“I think I need to sit down,” she said softly.
“Come on, Grandma.” Prime took her arm and guided her back to the couch. “Let me make you some tea.”
He walked her over, sat her down, and covered her lap with the throw blanket she liked.
Then he went to the kitchen and put the kettle on without saying a word to anyone.
I watched him stand at the counter with his back to the room and his head bowed.
He was holding it together for her. The same way Quest held it together for me on that island.
You keep your face steady because the person you love needs you to.
Serenity disappeared down the hall with Sarai.
Justice followed her with his eyes, then looked at Quest, then at Prime’s back in the kitchen.
Three brothers processing the same grief in three different ways.
Justice with his jaw locked. Quest with his hand squeezing mine so tight I could feel his pulse.
Nobody said anything for a long time. The house that had been so loud and warm an hour ago was holding its breath.
Then Dream’s small voice broke the silence. “Is Grandma going to be okay?”
Justice pulled her closer. “Yeah, baby. Grandma’s going to be just fine. She just gets a little confused sometimes.”
“Can I make her a card? Like I made for Aziza?”
“I think she’d love that.”
Dream got up and went looking for paper. Rita sipped her tea with both hands. The color was coming back to her face. She was here again, fully present, but the room still carried the weight of where she’d just been.
Quest leaned over and kissed my temple. “You okay?” he whispered.
“Yeah.” I wasn’t. None of us were. But I squeezed his hand back and held on because that’s what this family did. We held on. Through plane crashes, cartels, kidnappings, prison cells, and now this. This slow, quiet thief that was going to take Rita from us piece by piece.
But not today. Today she was here. Today my daughter was home. Today the house was full of people who would go to war for each other and had the scars to prove it.
That was going to have to be enough.