Page 57 of You Deserve Good Things

I nodded, cryin’ now. “I know.”

He kissed my forehead, his voice low.

“I love you beyond the stars, lil’ bit.”

I sniffled. “I love you more.”

He pulled back, smirking. “Now, take yo’ ass back, and tell Chase I said to stop fumbling his future wife.”

I laughed through my tears. “You always have one more thing to say.”

He grinned. “And you love it.”

Then everything faded. And I woke up.

I was on my knees, on that cold hospital floor, knees bruised from grief and fists clenched so tight, my knuckles bled like my soul had split open. I wasn’t praying. I was begging. Bargaining. Bargaining with the same God I hadn’t talked to since I was a boy sitting in Silas’s mama’s kitchen, eating pancakes after church.

But this? This wasn’t a prayer. This was a scream dressed in silence. A love letter to God—inked in desperation and sealed with tears.

“God. Big G. Please don’t take her from me. I’m begging You.”

My voice cracked, raw like my throat had been dragged through glass. My heart beat like a war drum in my chest—wild, frantic, loud enough I swore Heaven could hear it.

“I just got her back, God. Just got her back. After all this time. All this hurt. All of them sleepless nights. All them empty mornings where I woke up reachin’ for a body that wasn’t there. And now? Now You gon’ just take her from me? Away from our son and daughters?”

My forehead hit the floor, hot tears soaking into the tile like I was tryin’ to baptize myself in sorrow.

“Don’t do this, Lord. Please don’t do this. I will do anything. I’ll give up everything. Just let her stay.”

I sobbed—ugly, guttural sobs that clawed up my throat and shattered in the air like broken promises.

“You made her, God. You crafted her with care, like art. Like royalty. She ain’t just my wife, she is my rib, my rhythm, my reason. She is the beat behind my chest, the breath in my lungs, the blessing I never believed I was worthy of. If You take her, God . . . if You take her from me . . .”

I swallowed back the scream.

“You might as well take me too.”

I closed my eyes, my lips trembling.

“She is Your daughter, Lord. But she is my world. My everything. You loaned her to me, and I been tryna love her like You would. I’ve been tryna cover her like a prayer, carry her like a promise. But I’m not You. I’m just a man. A man who is terrified of waking up in a world that don’t got her in it.”

I gripped the floor harder, my fists smeared with my own blood and heartbreak.

“I’m not tryna test You. I ain’t tryna question Your will. But I’m on my knees, God. I’m cryin’ from a place deeper than pain. Please. Please let her wake up. Let her hold our babies. Let herlive. Let her laugh again. Let me hear that laugh, Lord. I’ll never ask for another thing again. Not one more thing.”

I whispered the last part like a secret.

“I swear, I’ll give You everything I got. Just don’t take her from me.”

And right when I felt like I was slipping—like the ground beneath me had given up on holdin’ me up . . .

A nurse burst through the doors, her voice slicing through my silence like sunlight splitting through clouds after the storm.

“She’s awake!”

I didn’t walk. I ran. I didn’t just run. I flew. My soul hit turbo and left my body catching up.

I damn near tackled the doctor trying to get to her. My legs moved on faith alone. I flung open her door and there she was.

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