21. Thirty One Days
Thirty-one days had passed since Jared was shot. At some point, the doctors stopped measuring time in hours and started measuring it in weeks.
The news stations stopped running constant updates.
The flowers stopped arriving every day. Even some of the city officials who once crowded the waiting room, offering prayers and promises, had returned to their normal lives.
But for me, time had frozen the moment Jared collapsed in my arms. Every morning, I woke up in the same hospital room.
Every night, I fell asleep listening to the same machines.
The world outside continued moving while mine remained suspended between one heartbeat and the next.
The nurses had long since stopped asking whether I wanted to go home.
They knew the answer. I had no home without Jared in it.
I stood beside his bed that morning, carefully changing his pillowcase.
It wasn’t something I had to do. The nursing staff handled it every day if I let them.
But after a month inside this room, I found comfort in the smallest routines.
I looked forward to straightening his blankets and moisturizing his hands.
I brushed his waves, which had now grown into the most beautiful coils.
I read the latest J. Allen street-lit series to him.
I changed my voice like a voice actor. I found that completing the series with him made the quiet in the room more manageable.
Taking care of Jare made me feel useful and a bit less helpless.
I slid my hands beneath his head and carefully adjusted the pillow before lowering him back down.
Even unconscious, Jared somehow still looked handsome.
The swelling from the surgery had disappeared weeks ago.
The bruising had faded. If someone walked into the room without knowing better, they might think he was simply sleeping.
As many times as the doctor said it, I rolled my eyes each time because sleeping people woke up. My husband hadn’t.
The word husband still caught me off guard sometimes.
We’d only been married for a matter of minutes before everything fell apart.
A bitter laugh escaped me. Most women spent the first month of marriage learning their husband’s habits and needed a vacation from the honeymoon.
Newlyweds argued over closet space. But instead, I spent mine memorizing hospital schedules.
With all of this darkness, I did have a small semblance of life.
A piece of Jared that I would carry with me no matter how shit turned out.
My hand drifted instinctively to my stomach.
The baby shifted my entire perspective on everything.
Every doctor’s appointment terrified me, every cramp sent me spiraling, and each moment of stress made me wonder if I was somehow failing the tiny life growing inside me.
Thankfully, the baby remained stubbornly healthy.
The appointment earlier that week had gone perfectly.
The baby’s heartbeat was strong, and my OB, Dr. Vines, said the growth was right on schedule.
The technician smiled through the entire ultrasound while I cried through most of it.
I cried heavily during the appointment because, in the middle of all this chaos, God had given me a miracle.
At forty-four years old, after years of being told my PCOS would make pregnancy difficult, and telling myself I had no right to be angry.
After spending most of my life convincing myself that motherhood had already happened for me with AJ, JoJo, and Mir.
Somehow, there was still another chapter waiting for us.
The thought both comforted and devastated me.
Because every piece of good news eventually led back to the same heartbreaking reality, Jared wasn’t awake to experience any of it.
I pulled my chair closer to the bed and sat down, immediately reaching for his hand.
His fingers remained warm beneath mine, and after a month, I’d become embarrassingly attached to that simple fact.
Every morning, I checked his temperature before the nurses did.
Every night, I watched the rise and fall of his chest until sleep finally claimed me.
I needed constant proof that he was still here and that I hadn’t lost him.
“You would’ve laughed at me yesterday,” I said softly, tracing my thumb across his knuckles.
Talking to him had become second nature. At first, I felt silly. Now I couldn’t imagine sitting in silence.
“Demir got suspended again.” My voice cracked immediately.
The school counselor said trauma looked different on every child.
AJ buried himself in studying. He was getting a head start on studying for final exams that were still eight weeks away, and he called every night from college pretending everything was fine.
JoJo threw every emotion he had into basketball practice and refused to talk about the shooting unless somebody forced him.
But our baby boy, Demir, fought. Our sweet baby was acting out of character.
“He punched a kid because they made a joke about shootings being a part of politics.”
I shook my head slowly.
“The principal called me before breakfast.” A sad smile pulled at my mouth. “He told her if anybody talked about his dad again, he’d punch both eyes next time.”
Tears burned my eyes; my little man was hurting.
Hell, all of our kids were hurting, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fix any of it.
I needed AJ to finish this semester strong to stay eligible for athletics, JoJo had another tournament this weekend, Mir needed therapy, and Jazzy was talking about not going to law school now.
On top of all of that, Jared was still the Democratic candidate, and they were throwing their full support behind his recovery.
While I appreciated their support, it came with too much media attention, extra phone calls, and a campaign manager who wanted to meet with me once a day.
The campaign still existed, and the Crestwood voters who believed in him saw our children and me as a pillar of hope.
Life kept demanding things from me; meanwhile, all I wanted was to sit beside my husband and wait for him to come back.
I leaned forward and pressed my forehead gently against our joined hands.
I was tired. Not physically, I had cleared all of my clients’ appointments for the foreseeable future and was in bed almost every night by eight.
But no matter how long I slept, I felt fatigued.
I was soul tired. It was the kind of exhaustion that settled deep in your bones, the kind that came from carrying hope for too long without knowing if it would ever be rewarded.
“I need you, Jare.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. The room remained silent except for the steady rhythm of the monitors.
“I know everybody keeps telling me how strong I am.” A tear slid down my cheek. “But I don’t want to be strong today.” My grip on his hand tightened. “I just want my husband.”
And for the thirty-first day in a row, I sat beside him and loved him enough for both of us.
Leaving Jared’s room felt wrong every single time.
I never got used to it. Every time I stood from that chair and gathered my purse, some irrational part of my brain convinced itself that something terrible would happen the second I walked away.
I would glance back three or four times before reaching the door.
Sometimes I would walk halfway down the hallway only to turn around and check on him one more time.
Channy and YaYa had noticed and tried to comfort me.
But they eventually stopped trying to convince me not to behave this way because they couldn’t imagine how they would feel if this were X or Zay.
The man I loved had been shot in front of me.
They knew I was carrying that image around like a wound that refused to close.
The Democratic Party had transformed the entire floor into something that looked more like a government facility than a hospital wing. Security stood outside Jared’s room at all hours. Every visitor had to be approved, and every name was checked.
And beyond them were Zayden’s people. He told the party that Crown Logistics would pay for additional security, and they agreed.
The men from Crown Logistics tried to blend in.
They had quietly positioned themselves throughout the hospital without anyone having to ask.
Some sat in waiting rooms pretending to read newspapers.
Others lingered near elevators or cafeteria entrances.
Most people would have never noticed them.
I noticed them because I knew who they were.
The men Zay hired were honored to guard Jared.
They weren’t there for the campaign or for politics.
They were there because they said, “The hood loves Jared.” Although voters in the city might have discovered him only recently, these men had known exactly who he was for years.
Jared had helped their cousins and friends get appeals. He protected them inside.
One of the security guards nodded at me when I stepped off the elevator.
“Morning, Mrs. Davis.”
Mrs. Davis. The title still caught me off guard. I absolutely loved my new last name. I wore it with so much pride; I just hated that my first month in it had happened in a hospital.
Because of my advanced maternal age, I had constant checkups with Dr. Vines and more ultrasounds than the average person. I had an ultrasound scheduled for ten o’clock today, and I found myself nervous. The anxiety never seems to stop these days.
I worried when I was awake.
I worried when I slept.
I worried every time my stomach cramped, or I felt tired, or I couldn’t remember if I’d eaten enough vegetables that week.