Chapter Twelve Familiar Faces
The eyes told the story before the mouths could speak.
Sunni exhaled, rolled her shoulders, and forced a steady smile.
“Alright y’all, let’s be on our best behavior,” she said. “Say thank you, eat like you got home training, and if you gotta go potty—tell somebody.”
“Potty?” Prince smirked. “Mama, we not five.”
Bunny was already halfway out her seatbelt, gripping her gift bag like gold.
“She here!” she shouted, spotting her classmate.
Nia ran toward her with arms wide. They hugged like they hadn’t just seen each other that morning in homeroom. Laughing. Jumping. Spinning in circles.
Sunni looked around. It was a real party—music playing low, adults on lawn chairs sipping sweet tea, kids everywhere chasing bubbles and dreams.
Natty ran off holding Dexter’s hand. Prince trailed behind, eyeing the snacks. Even Kane cracked a small smile as she followed.
Sunni stepped out of the car and felt the weight of the summer sun on her shoulders—or maybe that was just memory, heat-stretched and haunting.
She turned to Kane. “Come on, walk with me.”
They made their way toward the porch, checked in with Nia’s mom, exchanged polite hellos, and dropped off the gift. Sunni’s smile was effortless, as if she wasn’t standing on the edge of emotional whiplash. As if her heart didn’t pound every time a car pulled up or a door opened across the street.
After ten minutes of standing, waving, and making small talk, Sunni leaned toward Kane and said, “Let’s head back to the car. Let them play.”
They turned and walked slowly toward the Tahoe. Just as Sunni reached for the driver door and Kane leaned back on the hood, they heard giggles—light, sweet, and familiar in a way that turned Sunni’s stomach inside out.
They turned around.
Two kids—a little girl with thick puffs and a toddler boy with big, curious eyes—peeked out from behind a row of hedges across the street.
Giggling.
Watching them.
And staring.
Sunni’s breath caught. Her hand dropped from the door.
Kane whispered, “Mama…”
She didn’t respond.
The kids had his eyes. Wide. Brown. Bright. The same eyes she kissed goodnight in her own home for years. The same eyes Bunny and Dexter had when they were babies. The same tilt, the same shape—impossible to ignore.
Kane froze. “That’s them, huh?”
Sunni nodded slowly. Her heart beat in her throat.
The little girl waved, just a little. Not knowing who she was waving to. Just a kid. Innocent.
A woman called from inside the house—“Zora, KJ, come inside!”
The kids ran off.
And Marcus never came out.
Just the echo of giggles, and the quiet thud of a door closing.