Chapter Eight What Doesn’t Break You
Kane didn’t talk much after that night.
Not about the movie. Not about Minnie Girl. Not even about the look Keisha gave her in the rearview mirror—like she was sorry… or scared.
She carried the secret home like a ticking bomb in her backpack.
Every day, she tried to pretend it didn’t matter. That Keisha was just another grown-up caught in a lie she didn’t start. That her daddy was still gone.
But he wasn’t gone. He was alive.
And that truth itched at her skin like a rash. It made her chest tight when Bunny brought up how much she missed Daddy’s Sunday pancakes. It made her snap at Dexter when he found one of Marcus’s old shirts and wore it around like armor. It made her stay in her room more, lights off, music too loud.
She avoided Minnie Girl at school. Dodged her texts. Skipped lunch so she wouldn’t have to see her. It wasn’t her fault, really. But every time Kane looked at her, all she saw was Keisha. That woman. That other life.
That life her daddy chose instead of them.
Sunni noticed the change.
Kane was always quiet, but this was different. The way she flinched when Sunni called her name. The way she avoided eye contact. Like she was hiding in her own skin.
Sunni gave her space—at first. But one night, after Kane missed dinner again and didn’t even come down for Natty’s bedtime story, she knocked softly on her door.
“Kane? You good, baby?”
A long pause.
Then: “I’m fine.”
Sunni pushed the door open anyway. Her daughter was curled up in bed, hoodie on, blinds closed.
She sat on the edge of the bed, letting the silence stretch.
“You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”
More silence.
“I know somethin’s eating at you. And I ain’t mad. I’m just… here.”
Kane sat up slowly, eyes rimmed red.
“I saw her.”
Sunni turned. “Saw who?”
“Keisha.”
Her stomach dropped.
Kane wiped her face with the sleeve of her hoodie. “Minnie Girl’s sister is Keisha. She picked us up from the movies. Dropped me off. I didn’t know it was her ‘til it was too late.”
Sunni didn’t speak.
“I didn’t say nothing ‘cause I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what to say.”
Sunni placed her hand on Kane’s back, gentle.
“You don’t have to hide nothin’ from me. Ever.”
“I just… I don’t get it,” Kane whispered. “Why ain’t you said somethin’? Why you act like he still dead? He ain’t. He’s not.”
Sunni inhaled slowly, steadying her voice.
“Because, baby… sometimes the truth hurt worse than the lie. And I had to pick one if I was gon’ keep y’all safe, keep this house together. If I let him be real again, everything we built since he left? It unravels.”
“But don’t we deserve to know him?”
“Do you?” Sunni looked her in the eyes. “The man who faked his death and built a new family while we was crying over a casket? Who made me explain to y’all why God took him? He chose silence, Kane. I’m just matchin’ energy.”
Kane looked down, torn. “I still love him, Mama.”
Sunni’s throat tightened. “I know, baby. I do too.”
Tears fell. The kind they hadn’t cried in a while—the kind that didn’t fix anything, but emptied the cup just enough to breathe again.
Sunni pulled her daughter in close. And they sat like that, in the dark, two hearts broken by the same man but held together by each other.