Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
STORMI
Ronnie was dead, Dre was dead, and for the first time in what felt like forever, life was starting to look normal. Whatever normal even meant for us.
I was back behind my own wheel again, driving myself where I needed to go. But even with that small piece of freedom, I still caught glimpses of Josh posted up somewhere in the shadows, pretending like I didn’t see him watching.
Old Stormi wouldn’t have noticed. But Seth’s wife, the woman who got shot while eight months pregnant and still lived to tell the story, she noticed everything now. Not out of fear, but out of memory and out of survival. I had that unspoken reminder: remember who the fuck you are.
“So, this man wants to build you a house from the ground up,” Jo said, giving me that side eye smirk, “when y’all already got a nine-bedroom, twelve-bathroom mansion and just two kids?”
We were walking through the fourth property of the day, scouting spaces for my new women’s wellness center.
Ever since Dre’s mess was over, I’d promised myself I’d focus on living my life to the fullest. The night Seth asked me what I wanted outside of being a wife and mother, I just stared at him.
I didn’t even know how to answer. I’d been floating for so long, taking whatever good came my way I’d forgotten what it felt like to want something for myself.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved teaching. But teaching was something that happened for me. A scholarship. A job. A paycheck. Stability. Where I came from, that was more blessing than dream.
But this, this was different. This was mine. I stepped inside the building, and the air shifted. Big open floors, light pouring in through wide glass windows. It felt right, like the walls were already calling my name.
“This the one,” I whispered, mostly to myself.
“He wants to build our first home together,” I said to Jo as she ran her hand across the exposed brick wall. “As husband and wife. Not just move me into something he already had.”
Jo grinned, her gold hoops catching the light. “I picked you a good husband, didn’t I?”
“Jo, what?” I laughed, shaking my head, but I could feel the warmth rising in my chest. She just smiled harder.
“I’m serious, Stormi. After everything, you deserve a man who wanna build with you, not just keep you.”
Her words hit soft but deep. I looked around the space again this empty building, these blank walls and I could almost see it all already women coming in broken, walking out whole. A place where healing didn’t just sound good, it felt possible.
“Yeah,” I said finally, turning back to her. “I think I finally got one.”
“Stormi, you were about to let that good man get away,” Jo said, laughing so loud the realtor jumped a little.
“Scared to go on a date, scared to give him some pussy, scared to tell him you were pregnant. Now look at you in that big ol’ house being nasty every night.
” She cackled, walking off before I could even respond.
“Excuse my mother,” I said quickly to the realtor, who was trying her best not to laugh.
“I have a mother the same way,” she said with a smile, leading us further down the hallway.
The space was beautiful. Eight rooms, high ceilings, a wide-open lobby, even a kitchen tucked in the back.
The more I walked it, the more my mind started spinning.
My original plan for the women’s wellness center still felt right, but something about this building, the way it wrapped around you, made me think bigger.
“Jo!” I called out, my voice echoing through the halls.
“Stormi, don’t be in here actin’ ghetto now,” she called back, stepping out of the kitchen with a paper cup in her hand.
I shot her a look. “I know you not talking,” I said, one brow raised. She smirked and waited for me to keep going.
“A recovery home,” I said finally. “Let’s turn this into a recovery home.”
She blinked, her eyes scanning the walls like she was trying to see what I saw. “A recovery home?” she repeated.
“Yes,” I said, walking closer, my hands moving as I spoke.
“Women can come here and stay while they recover physically, emotionally, whatever they need. We got eight rooms, so at least six could stay long term. We can have a doctor, a nurse, a therapist on staff. A full team. A real space for women to get their life back.”
Jo’s eyes softened, and that familiar light crept into them. “I see the vision, child,” she said finally. “I see it clear as day.”
“Yeah,” I breathed, turning around again, taking it all in. “A recovery home.”
“Stormi Knights,” Jo said suddenly.
“Huh?”
“Call it Stormi Knights.”
“Name it after me?” I asked, confused.
She smiled that slow, knowing smile the one she gets when she’s about to say something that’ll sit on your heart for weeks.
“Yeah, baby. Where you think your name came from? You were always a reminder of the one beautiful thing that came from all them stormy nights. So, make this place the same something beautiful that comes from the storm.”
My throat got tight. I blinked fast, but the tears came anyway. “I love it,” I whispered, pulling her into a hug.
Moments like this, this right here, were everything I used to pray for. Me and Jo on the same page, laughing, dreaming, building. Now we go on shopping dates, lunch dates, even dinner dates like best friends. And I needed that. Especially with RJ and Ari all the way in Africa doing medical work.
“So, ladies,” the realtor said, walking back in with her clipboard. “What do we think?”
“I want it,” I said a little too loud, but I didn’t care. The joy burst out of me before I could stop it.
The realtor grinned, already clapping her hands. “Then let’s start the paperwork and put in an offer.”
And just like that, I could feel it… the start of something new. Something healing. Something mine. Another Black woman winning, another dream coming alive. That’s all I ever wanted to see.
“Let me just call my husband so he can come down here,” I said, pulling my phone from my purse. My fingers were trembling. Not from nerves, just that excitement that always came before I heard his voice.
The moment the call connected, I heard him say, “Wifey.”
Lawd, I had no business getting wet just from one word, but that man’s voice always did something to me. Deep, calm and possessive in the best way.
“Husband,” I said back, smiling before I even realized it.
“Found something?” he asked, and I could hear the boys in the background laughter, toys dropping, little feet hitting the hardwood.
“I did,” I said, glancing around the open space again. “And she wants to start the paperwork. You able to come down here? The boys not sleeping, are they?”
He chuckled, that rich, easy laugh that made my heart relax every single time. “Your boys are wide awake causing terror. Ain’t no naps in sight.”
I smiled, shaking my head. “Bring them with you. I want to put an offer in on this place before someone else does.”
“Nah,” he said, voice still soft but firm. “Stormi, this your business. It’ll be in your name. You don’t need me to come or sign anything. You got the cash in the truck and the card on you. Do your thing, Wifey.”
I froze. My mouth went dry. The space was two-hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars and yeah, I drove a hundred-thousand-dollar truck, slept in a $4.
5 million home, and wore jewelry that cost more than what I used to make in a year.
But all of that was Seth. His money. His grind.
His world. And even though he never threw it in my face, something in me still hesitated every time I had to spend his money. Especially this much.
“Seth,” I whispered, walking toward the door and lowering my voice so Jo wouldn’t overhear. “This space is two hundred seventy-five thousand dollars.” “Okay,” he said simply.
Just like that. Like I’d said, it was seventy-five dollars.
“I don’t want to spend that much of your money without you,” I said softly, pacing the empty hallway. “I haven’t worked in almost two years. I just”
“That’s your money, Stormi,” he cut in, voice low but steady.
“But I haven’t”
Click. Silence.
“Hello?” I said, pulling the phone back to check the screen. The call had ended.
He hung up on me. I just stood there staring at my wallpaper, a photo of all three of my boys knocked out on our bed, arms and legs everywhere, Seth’s big hand resting protectively on their backs even in sleep.
My throat tightened. I called back once. No answer. Twice. Straight to voicemail. Three times. Still nothing and then my phone buzzed.
Hubby: Do your thing, Wifey
I exhaled, biting back a smile as the tears pricked my eyes.
That man always reminding me who I was, even when I forgot.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a second, and told myself,” Alright, Stormi.
Big girl panties. Handle your business. No more second guessing. No more asking permission to shine.”
“So, are we going with it?” the realtor asked as she rounded the corner, tablet in hand, her heels clicking against the tile.
“Yes,” I said, exhaling again not out of nerves this time, but relief that a decision was finally made.
“Okay!” she said, smiling wide, clapping her hands together like this was her win too.
“Didn’t you say this owner also owns the last property we saw?” I asked, straightening my posture and slipping back into business mode.
“Yes, she does,” the realtor nodded. “She’s an older woman, been looking to sell her properties before she passes. Wants them in good hands.”
“Then put an offer in,” I said, my tone steady now. “I’ll give her four hundred and twenty thousand for both.” The words came out before I could overthink them; bold, clear, and confident. The kind of thing the old Stormi would’ve choked on.
Jo came strolling in right on cue, phone in her hand, chewing gum like she owned the building. “Ms. Stormi Knight Greene,” she said, dragging my name out like it tasted good. “You are exactly who you think you are.”
I blinked. “Jo, what?”