Saturdays are always chilling days. No way, no cooking and certainly, no cleaning. Aiden has someone to do all the house chores.

"Fuck," he mutters before I hear the bathroom door bang.

With a small smile playing on my lips, I continue watching the bathroom door, aware of the activity taking place behind it. The memory of last night lingers in my mind, a blend of passion and tenderness that has left me in a state of emotional disarray.

As I reluctantly leave the bedroom to make my way to the balcony, I feel a profound mixture of emotions. The complexities of my relationship with Aiden have reached a new level, and it's challenging to make sense of it all.

I dial my mother's phone number, hoping to find solace and connection in our conversation. Her voice answers on the first ring, and I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt for not reaching out earlier.

"Mama, how are you?" I inquire, eager to establish a connection.

Her response is far from warm, her words delivered with a sharpness that I know all too well. "How am I?" she retorts with frustration. "You were supposed to come here weeks ago. If you're calling to give me one of your excuses, don't bother."

My mother's anger, like an unyielding flame, is a trait I've inherited, passed down through generations. It's a reminder of the complex web of family dynamics that has shaped who I am today.

I pause, feeling a mixture of guilt, frustration, and the weight of my obligations. "I'm sorry, Mama. It's been a rough time, and I've had some unexpected events," I explain, hoping to bridge the gap between us.

She huffs on the other end, but her tone softens just a fraction. "Aaliyah, you've always had a talent for finding trouble," she says with a sigh. "But family is family. Come visit when you can, and let's talk in person."

A wave of relief washes over me as I agree to her invitation. While my relationship with Aiden is intricate and emotionally charged, the ties of family are a part of my life. The connection to my mother is a lifeline that keeps me grounded, reminding me of the bonds that have moulded me throughout the years.

I take a deep breath, my heart heavy with the knowledge that my actions have left my mother frustrated and worried about Ezra. I've carried the burden of the decision to have him live with my mother, fully aware of the judgment and concern it has caused within our family.

"Sorry, Mama, I definitely will. Anyways, how is Ezra doing?" I inquire, my voice trembling with the weight of the conversation. My mother's disapproval hangs in the air, and I know that she scolds me repeatedly about my choice to have him stay with her. I can sense her frustration, but she doesn't know the full extent of the reasons behind my decision. I didn't want Ezra to witness my struggle with mental instability or be exposed to my chaotic lifestyle, filled with impulsive and dangerous sexual encounters.

"Mama, please," I plead, tears welling up in my eyes. The sound of Ezra's giggles reaches my ears through the phone, and it's a bittersweet reminder of what I'm missing. He sounds adorable and happy, and it tears at my heart.

My mother's voice softens, a hint of sadness in her tone. "Hear that sound? The sound of joy and happiness? That's him," she says gently. "He's giggling because I put your voice on speaker, and he knows the sound of your voice, even though you haven't been here for a year and at least five months. Every child knows their mother."

I nod, feeling a mix of guilt, longing, and regret. She's right, and I've missed so much of my son's life. "I know, Mama. I'm going to come and see him soon. I promise."

I take a moment to gather my thoughts, realizing there's something else I need to discuss with her. "Mama, remember the job interview I told you about?" I inquire, the hesitation in my voice mirroring my uncertainty about how she will react.

My voice trembles as I reveal, "Well, the owner is Aiden, and I'm now working with him. I don't know how to tell him about Ezra. I have a hunch he already knows. I'm scared, Mama." The weight of the silence that follows feels like an eternity, and my heart pounds with apprehension.

Seconds pass, and still, nothing. My anxiety peaks as I wonder if something has happened to my mother.

"Mama, say something, please," I plead, my tears uncontrollable.

Finally, her voice breaks the silence, and it's filled with a mix of exasperation and a tinge of disappointment. "I tell you this every time we talk about him. You ruined everything between you two," she scolds, her frustration evident. "You should have told him about Ezra, but you chose not to. Telling him is a must; he is the father. Just know that he isn't going to be happy. Maybe he will be the angriest you've ever seen him. But you have to remember, it's your fault. You didn't communicate, and even after the breakup, he tried to ask around what he had done wrong. He even came to me, your papa, and Cora, and you still didn't try to fix it."

My mother's words sting and I'm reminded of the damage my choices have caused. I can't help but feel the weight of guilt and remorse. I know I've made mistakes, and my inability to communicate has led to this messed up situation.

"But Mama," I protest, "I was scared, and I didn't want to burden him with my problems. I thought I was doing what was best for Ezra."

Her voice softens as she responds, "I know, dear, but sometimes we need to let people in, even if it's difficult. You've made your bed, Aaliyah. Now you have to lie in it. It's time to face the consequences and make amends. For Ezra's sake."

I struggle to hold back my tears, covering my mouth in an attempt to suppress the sobs that threaten to escape. Despite my efforts, my shoulders tremble with the weight of emotion, and I feel utterly overwhelmed.

"You have to come for his birthday, honey," Mama insists. Her words strike a chord deep within me. I can't bear the thought of missing my son's birthday, and I know that I must do whatever it takes to be there for him.

"I will be there, Mama," I assure her with determination. "And I'm going to tell Aiden about everything."

My mother responds with a simple hum before ending the call. Even though it's been a while since I left, her words still carry a weight of guilt that I can't escape.

As I turn around to head back into the bedroom, I'm met with the sight of Aiden standing there, his eyes bloodshot and his gaze locked on me.

My heart sinks. Shit, he heard everything. The confrontation I had been dreading has arrived sooner than expected, and I find myself at a loss for what to say next.

++++

The book has taken a turn my Niggers! Be prepared for what is about to happen hehe 🫠🫠