Page 300 of Invisible Bars
“I did laugh, baby,” he admitted, overlooking my outburst. “But because I noticed… the missed period.”
I stared, my eyes widening in disbelief. “You… you did?”
Imanio smirked then, a playful glimmer in his eyes as his hand drifted up to rest gently against my waist.
“Yeah. I’m fuckin’ you, so of course, I noticed. And I been beatin’ it raw every damn chance I get. Besides, you’ve been a lil’ moodier this week.”
I swallowed, skin hot.
He leaned down, voice brushing against my lips. “If you are pregnant, I want it. I want all of it—the baby, you, the changes, the mood swings, the belly, and those crazy ass cravings. I want it messyandreal, just like we been doing everything else.”
My throat tightened. “But what if I’m not ready?”
“Or maybe you justthinkyou’re not and it’s all in your head.” Imanio pressed his forehead to mine. “Either way, I’ll be ready enough for both of us.”
I closed my eyes, tears pushing behind them.
“We’ll take a test tomorrow,” he said softly. “Together. But don’t youeverthink you’re in this alone. That baby—if it’s there—it’s ours. Mine to protect. Yours to carry. Ours to raise.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“You good?”
A final tic fluttered out of me—soft, almost a whisper.
“Somebody tell my uterus it’s got backup.”
He grinned, pulled me into him, and kissed my forehead.
“Damn right it do.”
Epilogue
SEVEN ½ MONTHS LATER
The room was soft with haze, lit by a golden glow that didn’t seem to come from the sun or the moon—just peace.
As I looked around, a wave of nostalgia and confusion washed over me. I found myself barefoot in my old, faded pajamas, standing in my old kitchen. It wasn’t the kitchen as it was now, but a vibrant snapshot from my childhood—yellow curtains, spice jars on the windowsill, a bowl of fruit that never went bad. The radio in the corner played softly, the tunes of church hymns weaving through the air, echoing the joy that had once resonated within those walls.
And then I saw her.
Nana Li stood by the stove, dressed in her cherished floral house dress. She was stirring a bubbling pot of something aromatic, evoking memories of Sunday dinners filled with laughter and love.
Words escaped me, lodged in my throat like a stone, as she turned and smiled—her expression a mix of warmth and recognition, as if she had been waiting for this moment all along.
"Hey, baby,” she greeted softly.
My heart tightened at the sound, a melody I had longed to hear.
With open arms, she enveloped me in a hug that radiated love and safety, the kind of embrace that allowed all the world’s harshness to fall away. I melted against her, just as I had countless times in the past.
“I miss you,” I managed to whisper, my voice barely a breath.
“I know you do. I miss you too. But I been right here… just waiting ‘til you was ready.”
We settled down together at the well-worn wooden table, its surface scarred from years of family meals and laughter. She reached for my hand—her skin was still soft and warm. Her eyes bore a knowing look that seemed to dive deep into the very core of me.
“I’m proud of you, you hear me? You done come a long way,” she said, her voice rich with affirmation. “You got scars, baby—but you ain’t let them turn you bitter. That takes strength.”
