Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
CHAUNCEY
Rhyan Benyeir. My wife. My eyes open to the sound of her typing. For a second, I think I’m still dreaming—those coma dreams, trying to be kind to a nigga. But nah. She’s real.
Sitting there as she belongs. Legs crossed, calm as Sunday morning… as if she didn’t disappear for a year and take my heart with her. I don’t know what I expected to feel when I saw her again.
Relief?
Gratitude?
Nah. It’s anger.
I’m lowkey hot. It feels heavy under my ribs, a reminder that I almost fucking died. Rhy wasn’t there for the worst moments, only appearing now that I’m alive again, as if nothing had been wrong during her absence.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” slips out before I can stop it.
Rhy looks up from that MacBook, ready for war as if I’d interrupted her peace. As if she hadn’t once lain in my bed, promising she’d never leave me. As if she hadn’t left anyway.
And God help a nigga… she’s still fine. Still mine.
At least on fucking paper.
But that word?
Mine?
That shit feels shaky now. I can’t stop thinking about what she’s been doing while I was laid out. Who has she been doing it with?
I hear everything. The streets talk. My people talk. And lately? They have been talking about her. She’s been glowing.
Smiling.
Laughing somewhere that ain’t here. Then she fought one of my hoes and disappeared again. Like I don’t fucking exist.
That silence?
That shit cut deeper than these bullets ever could. Now she’s in here talking about “I won’t be here long.” Like I’m a tour stop on her way somewhere else. Like I’m a task she’s checking off before she boards a fucking flight.
Her leaving again? That’s the part I can’t take. The only thing that scared me wasn’t bleeding out… it was not seeing her face one more time. And now she’s here. And somehow…it still ain’t enough.
I want to yell. I want to drag her back to me.
Lock the door.
Tell her I don’t give a fuck who touched her—as long as she’s here now. But she’s standing there like marble.
Chin high.
Unmoved.
Standing on ten.
And me?
I’m stuck in this bed. Weak. Angry.
Still hers.
The room too small for this much pride. And I got more than all of them combined. The door opens. Simmy steps in first.
Big.
Quiet.
Heavy.
Like pressure before a storm. He looks me over, nods once. Then his eyes flick to Rhy.
Checking.
Always checking.
Then my momma. All white. Like she’s been praying nonstop. Tears fall before she even reaches me.
“Baby…” she whispers, grabbing my face. “Thank you, Lord.”
I grab her hand. “I’m good, Ma.”
She doesn’t stop crying.
I let her.
That’s the only soft thing in this room. Then the noise comes. True walks in, grinning, careful dap.
“Welcome back, Chauncey.”
Bianca right behind him, already talking. “I told y’all he was too stubborn to die.”
Amirya slips in quietly, eyes sharp, watching everything.
Aisha comes in loud and playful. “Awe, look who decided to join the living. Doesn’t he look good?”
The room fills up fast.
Voices.
Laughter.
Relief.
But I don’t see any of that. I see her. Rhy. Standing off to the side.
Arms folded. Chin high. Not folding. Not flinching. Not moving toward me. God… she’s so damn beautiful.
And I hate her for it. They’re all smiling like this is some reunion, like this shit is sweet. But they don’t see it. They don’t feel it. We ain’t close. We’re miles apart. Two continents pretending we share the same bed.
I see it in her eyes. She is ready to go.
And that?
That’s what makes my jaw lock. Because she showed up when I was unconscious. But now that I’m awake… she’s planning her exit. Everybody else is celebrating.
And I’m sitting here—quietly dying—watching the woman I love stand ten feet away, as if I were nothing but a memory she outgrew.