Page 8 of You Deserve Good Things

Five minutes before Silas pulled into that lot.

Five minutes before those bullets found him.

Five minutes before everything changed.

I had never felt more useless in my life. Not when my pops walked out and left me and Mama to figure it out. Not when we had to boil water to bathe ’cause the gas was off. Not even when I caught my first L in the streets and had to learn what real pain felt like.

No, this was different.

This was watchin’ the one person I’d do anything for slip away from me and not being able to pull her back.

She didn’t speak for two days.

Two whole days.

No words. No eye contact. No food unless we damn near forced it.

Mama Shari was breaking apart in real time—running her fingers through Shaniya’s locs, tryin’ to coax words outta her with soft songs and childhood stories. Samuel, her daddy, just sat in the kitchen sometimes, head in his hands, grief wrapped around him like a straitjacket.

I spent every second I could at her side. Slept on the couch. Ate whatever leftovers they offered. Didn’t go home. Didn’t wanna go home. Home didn’t mean nothing if she wasn’t okay.

“Shaniya, please,” I whispered one night, sitting next to her on the couch. Her hand was in mine, but it felt like I was holding air.

She stared forward like I wasn’t even there.

And I swear on everything, it broke me in ways I didn’t even have words for.

Then came the bomb I ain’t see coming—they were leaving.

Mama Shari pulled me aside, her voice soft and cracked. “We’re moving to Houston, Jacory.”

My knees buckled. I damn near dropped.

“What?”

“She needs a fresh start,” she said, her eyes red and swollen. “We all do.”

A fresh start?

So, what—we just leave Silas in the ground and act like that was enough? Just leavemebehind?

I fought back tears. “She needs me.”

“I know, baby. But she needs space more.”

I couldn’t even speak. I just walked out the kitchen and sat on the porch, fists clenched, trying not to punch a hole in my chest.

The day before they left, I asked—no, demanded—to see her.

Shari nodded and led me inside. The house was packed up. Photos off the walls. Boxes stacked by the door.

But Shaniya was still on the couch. Same hoodie. Same blank stare.

I sat down next to her.

Close, but not too close.

“Yaya, Ma said y’all leaving tomorrow,” I said softly, my voice catching in my throat. She didn’t move.

---