14. TRUTH #5
Then I pressed it.
He answered on the second ring. “Truth.”
His voice was low, careful. Like he was trying to gauge my mood before he said anything else.
“I need you to meet me somewhere,” I said, my voice steady.
There was a pause. “Where?”
“I’ll text you the address. Can you be there in an hour?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I hung up before he could say anything else.
Then I texted him the address: 1234 Mimosa Ct, New Orleans, LA 70119.
His response came almost immediately: I’ll be there.
I started the car and drove back to Mimosa Ct.
The house felt different now that it was mine.
I walked through the empty rooms slowly, my footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. I stood in the living room and imagined furniture—a couch, a coffee table, bookshelves. I walked into the kitchen and imagined cooking meals, washing dishes, making bottles for the baby.
I climbed the stairs and stood in the doorway of the nursery again.
This was where my baby would sleep.
This was where I would rock him or her in the middle of the night.
This was where I would build a life that was mine.
I heard a car pull up outside and looked out the window.
Amai’s black SUV was parked at the curb.
I watched as he got out, his movements controlled and deliberate. He was wearing dark jeans and a black button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked up at the house, his expression unreadable, then walked toward the front door.
I went downstairs and opened it before he could knock.
He stood on the porch, his eyes locked on mine. “What is this?”
“This is my house,” I said simply.
His gaze flicked past me, taking in the empty living room, the hardwood floors, the staircase leading up to the second floor. Then his eyes came back to me.
“You rented a house.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
He was quiet for a moment, his jaw tight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t need your permission,” I said, my voice calm but firm. “I needed my own space. So, I got it.”
Amai stepped closer, his presence filling the doorway. “Truth—”
“No,” I interrupted, holding up a hand. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to show up and try to control this. This is mine. I made this happen. Me.”
His eyes darkened, but he didn’t move. “I’m not trying to control you.”
“Yes, you are,” I said. “You’ve been trying to control me since the moment we met. You and Kaisen both. You’ve been making decisions about my body, my baby, my life. And I’m done with that.”
“Truth—”
“I’m not done talking,” I said, my voice rising slightly. “You want me to trust you? You want me to believe you’re not like Kaisen? Then you need to respect that I’m not yours to control. I’m not a possession. I’m not a pawn in your family’s game. I’m a person. And I get to make my own choices.”
Amai stared at me, his expression unreadable.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
“You’re right,” he said quietly.
I blinked, surprised. “What?”
“You’re right,” he repeated. “I’ve been trying to control you. I’ve been trying to keep you safe by making decisions for you. And that’s not fair.”
I crossed my arms, my heart pounding. “So, what now?”
“Now,” Amai said, stepping fully into the house and closing the door behind him, “you tell me what you need. And I listen.”
I stared at him, searching his face for any sign of manipulation or calculation.
But all I saw was sincerity.
“I need space,” I said finally. “I need to be able to think without you hovering over me. I need to be able to make decisions about my life and my baby without feeling like I’m being watched or controlled.”
“Okay.”
“I need answers,” I continued. “Real answers. About Kaisen. About your family. About what’s really going on. No more half-truths. No more secrets.”
Amai’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Okay.”
“And I need you to understand that I’m not running from you,” I said, my voice softer now. “I’m not leaving. I’m just… establishing boundaries. I’m taking control of my own life. And if you can’t respect that, then we don’t have anything to talk about.”
Amai was quiet for a long moment, his eyes locked on mine.
Then he stepped closer, his hand reaching up to cup my face. His touch was gentle, reverent.
“I respect it,” he said quietly. “I respect you. And I’ll give you the space you need. But I’m not going anywhere either, Truth. You understand that?”
I nodded, my throat tight.
“Good,” he said. Then he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “This house is yours. Your space. Your rules. But if you need me—if you need anything—you call me. You hear me?”
“I hear you.”
He pulled back, his hand lingering on my face for a moment longer before he dropped it.
Then he turned and walked toward the door.
“Amai,” I called after him.
He stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and looked back at me.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For listening.”
He nodded once, his expression softening. “Always.”
Then he left.
I stood in the empty living room of my new house, the sound of his car pulling away echoing in the quiet.
And for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.