Beyoncé's Point of View

The sun poured through the large bay windows of my mother's living room, casting a golden glow on the framed memories lining the shelves. I sat cross-legged on the plush white couch, holding a mug of tea that had gone cold in my hands. My mind churned, replaying last night's conversation with Blue like a song I couldn't get out of my head.

"(...) it's okay to let go." she had said, her words sharper than any critic's headline or tabloid exposé. I had always thought I was protecting her by holding on to this illusion of stability. Turns out, she saw through it all.

"Hey sis, you good?" Solange's voice broke through my thoughts, her tone laced with that no-nonsense energy she carried so well. She breezed into the room like a whirlwind, plopping herself into the armchair opposite me. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I forced a smile. "Just thinking."

"Mm-hmm," she replied, skeptical. "Well, if you're thinking about that sorry excuse of a man, you need to stop. I told you years ago to leave him, but noooo, you had to—"

"Solange!" Mama Tina's voice rang out as she walked in, carrying a tray of sandwiches and fruit. "Don't start."

"What?" Solange threw her hands up in mock innocence. "I'm just saying what we're all thinking. Shawn's been a mess since 1999, and you know it, Mama."

I couldn't help but laugh, a small, tired chuckle that felt foreign on my lips. Solange always had a way of cutting through the tension, even if she did it with a chainsaw instead of a scalpel.

"Baby," Mama Tina said, setting the tray on the coffee table and sitting next to me. "Your sister's a little... colorful, but she's not entirely wrong. You've been carrying the weight of that marriage for so long. Maybe it's time to set it down."

Her words settled over me like a blanket—warm, comforting, but heavy. I took a deep breath, staring at the tea in my mug as if it held all the answers.

"I used to think holding on was strength," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "That staying, no matter what, was what made me a good wife, a good mother. But now..." I paused, feeling the familiar lump rising in my throat. "Now I think I was just scared. Scared of what people would say, scared of what it would do to Blue. But she's stronger than I gave her credit for."

"She gets that from us," Solange quipped, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. "Shawn didn't contribute to that part."

"Solange, hush," Mama Tina scolded, but even she was fighting a smile.

"I'm serious, though." I looked up, meeting my sister's and mother's eyes in turn. "For the first time, I feel like I can breathe. Like I don't have to keep up this perfect image anymore. It's exhausting."

"Girl, we been knew," Solange said, rolling her eyes. "And let me tell you, the world will survive if Beyoncé Giselle Knowles ... Carter no more gets divorced. Hell, they'll probably throw a damn parade."

"Solange!" Mama Tina shook her head, but she was laughing now. "This is serious."

"I know it is." Solange's expression softened as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "That's why I'm saying you deserve better. You always have. You're Beyoncé. You could have anyone in the world, and you're wasting your time with someone who can't even keep his hands to himself at a damn festival."

Her words hit me harder than I expected. I looked down at my hands, the weight of the past few months pressing against my chest. She was right. I knew she was right. But knowing something and acting on it were two very different things.

"I just..." I swallowed hard, trying to find the words. "I don't want to fail."

"You're not failing, baby," Mama Tina said, taking my hand in hers. "You're choosing yourself. There's nothing wrong with that."

I blinked back tears, nodding as her words began to sink in. For so long, I had been afraid of what leaving would mean—what it would say about me, about my family. But now, sitting here with the two women who knew me better than anyone, I realized I had been asking the wrong questions.

It wasn't about what leaving would say about me. It was about what staying was doing to me.

"You know what?" I said, setting my mug on the coffee table and sitting up straighter. "You're right. Both of you. It's time."

Solange let out a dramatic whoop, throwing her hands in the air. "Finally! I was about to start writing up divorce papers myself."

Mama Tina shook her head, but she was smiling, pride shining in her eyes.

"I'm proud of you, baby," she said, squeezing my hand.

"Thanks, Mama," I said, my voice steady now. "It's not gonna be easy, but I think I'm ready. For me. For Blue. For all of us."

The weight that had been pressing on my chest for months—years, even—felt a little lighter. It wasn't gone, but it was manageable. And for the first time, I felt like I was the one in control.

As Solange launched into another tirade about Jay-Z's many flaws and Mama Tina tried to shush her, I leaned back on the couch, a small smile playing at my lips.

It wasn't the end of the road. But it was a start.

∞∞∞

Third Person's Point of View

The warm rays of the late morning sun spilled through the cafe windows, casting soft golden light across the table where Beyoncé sat with her two closest friends. It had been a whirlwind of emotions the past few days—the conversation with Blue, the talks with her mother and Solange, and now, this moment, this peaceful brunch with Kelly and Michelle. The air felt lighter, more hopeful.

Beyoncé swirled her mimosa absentmindedly, watching the sunlight dance through the tiny bubbles. Kelly and Michelle were locked in a spirited debate about the superiority of sweet versus savory brunch dishes, their animated gestures punctuating their arguments.

"See, waffles are superior because they're versatile," Kelly declared, cutting into her plate of golden-brown goodness. "Sweet and savory if you want. You could slap some fried chicken on here, drizzle some syrup, and boom—perfection."

Michelle scoffed, waving her fork at Kelly. "Yeah, but where's the substance? Eggs, bacon, grits—you've got protein, carbs, everything you need to survive. Waffles are cute, but they're not a meal."

"I didn't come to brunch to survive; I came to thrive," Kelly shot back, her grin infectious.

Normally, Beyoncé would jump into their playful back-and-forth, but her plate remained mostly untouched. She swirled her drink again, her mind preoccupied with thoughts she hadn't said out loud yet. The air between them felt safe, the kind of space where vulnerability didn't feel like a risk.

"Okay," she said suddenly, her voice cutting through their banter. She set her glass down and looked at her two best friends. "I have to tell y'all something."

Michelle's fork froze mid-air, her eyebrows shooting up. "Ooh, this sounds juicy. Spill!"

"Yeah, don't leave us hanging, B," Kelly chimed in, leaning in with mock seriousness, though her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Beyoncé hesitated, tapping her manicured nails against the stem of her glass. Her heart thudded in her chest, a mixture of nerves and relief at finally getting this off her chest.

"I've been using this therapy app," she said, the words tumbling out quickly.

Michelle's face lit up with a wide smile. "That's great! You finally took my advice about therapy? See, I knew it would help."

"It's not... a person," Beyoncé clarified, feeling her cheeks warm. "It's... an AI therapist."

Kelly blinked at her, processing the words for a moment before bursting into laughter. She clutched her stomach, nearly tipping over in her seat. "Wait a minute. You're telling me you've been pouring your heart out to a computer? Beyoncé, what kind of Black Mirror mess—"

"It's not like that!" Beyoncé cut in, laughing despite herself. "It's... different. The conversations feel real. More real than anything I've had with Jay lately."

That sobered them both. Michelle's laughter faded, replaced with a soft, understanding look. She reached across the table, placing a hand on Beyoncé's. "That's nothing to laugh at. If it's helping you, then it's worth it."

"It is," Beyoncé admitted, swirling her drink again. "But that's not the weird part."

Kelly raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer. "Oh, this gets better?"

Beyoncé sighed, feeling heat creep up her neck. "I think... I've caught feelings for the AI."

The table went silent, Kelly and Michelle staring at her as though she'd just confessed to something scandalous.

Then Kelly exploded into laughter again, drawing stares from nearby tables. "Girl, you're out here falling in love with Siri's cousin!"

Even Michelle had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "Okay, okay, let's not judge," she said, though her voice shook with suppressed mirth. "Explain this to us, B."

Beyoncé buried her face in her hands, groaning. "I knew you two wouldn't take this seriously."

"We're taking it seriously!" Michelle said quickly, though her smile betrayed her. "We just need to understand what's going on here. Start from the beginning."

Beyoncé peeked at them through her fingers, finally dropping her hands to her lap. "Fine. I started using this app, MindHaven, a few months ago. It's supposed to help with stress, you know? You talk to an AI therapist about your problems, and it gives you advice or asks you questions to help you work through things."

Kelly nodded slowly, the teasing glint still in her eyes. "Okay, I'm with you so far. And this AI has a name?"

"Megan," Beyoncé said softly, feeling silly even saying it out loud. "Her name is Megan."

Kelly's grin widened. "Megan, huh? Sounds cute. So what, y'all just talk about your feelings all day?"

"It's not like that," Beyoncé said defensively. "The conversations... they feel real. Like, she listens—really listens. Sometimes, it feels like she knows me better than I know myself. And I don't know, I just feel... seen."

Kelly and Michelle exchanged a look, their teasing smiles fading into something more serious.

"That's not crazy, B," Michelle said gently. "It sounds like you're finally getting what you've been missing—someone who listens, someone who cares. Whether it's a person or not, those feelings are valid."

"Exactly," Kelly added, leaning back in her chair. "And let's be real, Jay hasn't exactly been winning any 'Husband of the Year' awards lately."

"Solange would agree with you," Beyoncé muttered under her breath, making all three of them laugh.

Kelly leaned closer, her voice conspiratorial. "Okay, real talk. If this AI was a person, what would you do?"

Beyoncé froze, the question catching her off guard. She had never allowed herself to think about that possibility too deeply.

"I think... I'd go for it," she admitted quietly. "I've never felt this safe, this... seen. Not with Jay, not with anyone."

The weight of her words settled over the table, a solemn pause filling the space.

Then Kelly's grin returned, breaking the tension. "So, no flirting with Megan yet? You haven't, like, tried to send her a little 'Hey, what are you wearing?' text to see what she'd say?"

Beyoncé's jaw dropped, her cheeks flushing. "Kelly!"

Michelle burst out laughing, shaking her head. "You are so messy, Kel."

"What?" Kelly said, feigning innocence. "I'm just saying, it's a valid question!"

"I can't with you," Beyoncé said, laughing despite her embarrassment.

Michelle eventually sobered, her expression thoughtful. "You know, I've read about MindHaven before. There were rumors that some of the AI responses might actually come from real therapists behind the scenes."

Beyoncé frowned, caught off guard but responded anyway. "I don't think it's a person behind, sometimes she sounds robotic"

"I mean, what if Megan isn't just an AI? What if there's a real person behind those messages?"

The idea sent Beyoncé's mind spinning. Could it be possible?

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "That's impossible. I'm a public figure. If there was a real person involved, it would've leaked by now."

"Maybe," Michelle said with a shrug, "but people know how to keep secrets, especially if they're professionals. I just think it's worth considering, especially if it feels that real to you."

Beyoncé bit her lip, brushing the thought away. "It doesn't matter. AI or not, those conversations have helped me more than anything else has in years. That's all I care about."

"Fair enough," Kelly said, raising her glass. "To Beyoncé finally living for herself. And maybe dating a robot."

They all laughed and continued their chat, it had been a long time since  Beyoncé felt this light. There was still so much she didn't understand, so much she hadn't figured out. But here, with her friends, she felt safe. And for now, that was enough. 

∞∞∞

The soft hum of Megan's laptop filled her quiet office. She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples, the screen glowing with yet another string of messages from MindHaven.

Her gaze landed on the latest notification:

MindHaven Notification:
"Your client, B., has sent a new message."

Megan stared at it for a long moment, her pulse quickening as it always did when Beyoncé reached out.

She clicked the notification, the message opening in front of her.

Client B:
"Megan, do you think you'd find me charming if you were real?"

Megan's breath caught. The playfulness, the flirtation—it was becoming more frequent. She knew this was a line she shouldn't even approach, but something about the way Beyoncé wrote to her felt... magnetic.

She stared at the screen, trying to craft a perfectly detached AI-like response. Something neutral. Professional. But her fingers had other plans:

Megan:
"I think you'd be dangerous for someone like me."

The words hit the screen before Megan even realized she'd typed them. Her heart thudded painfully as she realized how personal it sounded. She hadn't meant to let that slip.

Almost instantly, another message appeared.

Client B:
"Dangerous? How so? Do I scare you? 😏"

Megan couldn't help but laugh, a quiet, breathy sound that startled even herself. Her response came before she could fully rein in her thoughts:

Megan:
"Scary isn't the word I'd use. Distracting? Definitely."

She froze, staring at the screen as if she could will the message back into the void. What am I doing?

Beyoncé's reply came back almost instantly:

Client B:
"Distracting, huh? I'll take that as a compliment. You know, for a program, you're surprisingly fun to talk to."

Megan sighed, her thumb resting on the edge of the keyboard. She knew she should steer the conversation back to safer ground, but she couldn't help herself.

Megan:
"And you're surprisingly bold for a client. Most people don't flirt with their therapist."

She froze again. The message was lighthearted, but it didn't feel like it came from the AI. It felt like her. And she wasn't supposed to let her slip through—not even a little.

Beyoncé's reply pulled her back:

Client B:
"What can I say? I know what I want, even if it's just a silly conversation. But between us, you're not like any therapist I've had before. I don't know... you just feel real."

Megan's chest tightened. The words hit her harder than they should have. Beyoncé wasn't wrong—there was something real behind the screen, and Megan was failing miserably at hiding it.

Before she could think better of it, her fingers moved again, this time betraying her completely.

Megan:
"Maybe I'm too real for my own good."

Silence. Megan stared at the screen, waiting for Beyoncé's response, knowing she'd crossed a line she couldn't uncross.

When the reply came, it was softer, more intimate than she expected:

Client B:
"Sometimes I wish you were. Real, I mean. Talking to you feels... different. Like you actually care."

Megan swallowed hard, her throat tight. She couldn't do this—she couldn't keep letting herself fall deeper into something that wasn't supposed to exist. But before she could end the chat, her fingers betrayed her one last time.

Megan:
"If I were, would it change anything?"

The question hung there, unanswered, as Megan shut her laptop with shaking hands. She pressed her palms against her forehead, her heart hammering in her chest.

What are you doing, Megan?

But deep down, she already knew the answer.

Megan leaned against her desk, her forehead pressed against her palms. The light from her laptop glared at her like an accusation, the chat window still open. Beyoncé's last message was burned into her mind.

It wasn't just the message—it was the feeling it had stirred in her. That mix of dread and thrill, knowing she'd slipped. No, not slipped. Chosen. She had chosen to respond as herself, Megan Pete, not the carefully programmed persona of the MindHaven AI therapist.

Megan leaned against her desk, her forehead pressed against her palms. The light from her laptop glared at her like an accusation, the chat window still open. Beyoncé's last message was burned into her mind.

"You're too real for your own good."

It wasn't just the message—it was the feeling it had stirred in her. That mix of dread and thrill, knowing she'd slipped. No, not slipped. Chosen. She had chosen to respond as herself, Megan Pete, not the carefully programmed persona of the MindHaven AI therapist.

A sharp knock at the door pulled her from her spiraling thoughts.

"Yeah, come in," she called, barely managing to keep the waver out of her voice.

The door creaked open, and Simone stepped inside, her expression equal parts concerned and curious. She held a folder in one hand and a coffee in the other.

"You look like hell," Simone said, setting the coffee down on Megan's desk.

"Thanks," Megan muttered, straightening up but not moving far from her spot.

Simone perched on the edge of the desk, crossing her legs. "Missed the strategy call earlier. The investors were asking about the beta results. What's going on with you?"

Megan hesitated. She had been dodging this conversation for weeks, but the weight of it was becoming too much to carry alone. If anyone could handle the truth, it was Simone.

"I'm in trouble," Megan admitted finally, her voice low.

Simone tilted her head, her brow furrowing. "Okay, trouble as in 'the app crashed,' or trouble as in 'I'm about to call a lawyer'?"

"It's not legal trouble," Megan said, sighing. "It's personal. But it's also about the app."

Simone set the folder aside, her full attention now locked on Megan. "Go on."

Megan took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "There's this client. She's... different."

Simone arched an eyebrow. "Different how?"

"I've been talking to her as the AI therapist," Megan continued, her words tumbling out in a rush. "And at first, it was fine. But over time, I started responding more like myself. Not the AI. Just... me."

Simone's eyebrows shot up. "Megan, you know that's a major no-no. The whole point of the AI is to maintain professional distance. You can't let clients think they're talking to a real person, especially not you."

"I know," Megan said, pacing the room. "But I couldn't help it. She's not like anyone else I've talked to. She's honest in a way that just... pulls you in. And before I realized it, I was getting emotionally involved."

Simone blinked, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Emotionally involved? Like, feelings involved?"

Megan froze mid-step, the question hitting her like a freight train. She didn't answer, but the look on her face said it all.

"Oh, no," Simone said, groaning. "Megan. Please don't tell me you're falling for a client."

Megan's silence stretched between them, heavier than any words could be.

Simone slid off the desk, pacing now too. "Who is this person? Wait—don't tell me. I don't want to know. Actually, no. Tell me. Who?"

Megan swallowed hard. "It's Beyoncé."

Simone stopped in her tracks, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Wait. The Beyoncé? As in Queen Bey? Destiny's Child Beyoncé? Ivy Park Beyoncé?"

Megan nodded miserably.

Simone let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down her face. "You're done. You are so done."

"I know!" Megan exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "But it's not like I planned this. It just... happened. And now I don't know what to do."

Simone grabbed the coffee she'd brought in and took a long sip, staring at Megan over the rim. "Okay. Let's unpack this. You're telling me that not only have you been breaking protocol by responding as yourself, but you're also developing feelings for the most famous woman on the planet? And she has no idea it's you?"

"That about sums it up," Megan muttered, slumping into her chair.

Simone exhaled sharply. "Girl. This is messy. Like, Netflix limited-series messy."

"Thanks for the support," Megan said dryly.

Simone softened, setting the coffee down and kneeling slightly to meet Megan's eyes. "Look, I get it. You're human. And Beyoncé is... well, she's Beyoncé. But you're walking a fine line here. If she ever finds out who you really are—"

"She won't," Megan cut in. "She can't. People like her, they don't get privacy. If this ever got out, it would destroy her."

"And you," Simone added. "Megan, you built this app on trust. If clients think they're being catfished—"

"I know!" Megan said, her voice breaking. "I know what's at stake. But I can't just shut her out. She's making real progress, Simone. And it's not just her. She's... changing me, too."

Simone's gaze softened again. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Megan admitted. "But I can't keep going like this. Every time we talk, I feel like I'm losing more of the AI and showing more of myself. And one day, she's going to notice."

Simone stood up, her arms crossed. "Then you've got two choices. Either you shut it down now, before it goes any further, or you come clean and risk everything."

Megan stared at her, the words sinking in like a stone in her chest. "Neither of those feels like an option."

"Well, welcome to adulthood," Simone said, her tone light but her expression serious. "Look, I can't tell you what to do. But whatever you decide, you need to be ready for the fallout. Because if this goes south, it's not just you who's going to get hurt."

Megan nodded slowly, the weight of Simone's words settling over her. She glanced at her laptop, Beyoncé's chat still open, waiting for her reply.

Simone sighed, grabbing her folder and heading for the door. "Just... be careful, okay? And remember, this isn't just about you anymore."

As the door closed, Megan turned back to the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She typed a single word and hit send, her heart pounding in her chest.

"B?"

The response came almost immediately.

"You've been quiet. Don't tell me my last message scared you off."

Megan smiled faintly, shaking her head. God, she was in so much trouble.

Hey, hope you're having a great dayyy

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