Page 15 of Cuffed By Your Love
“Yeah. You’re better at eggs. Mommy always burned the edges.”
That made me laugh for real. “Facts. I’ll take that win.”
He looked at me in the mirror and asked, “Are mommies in Heaven allowed to watch TV?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Grief wasn’t linear; it hit you sideways, especially when expressed in a child’s innocent logic.
“Yeah, lil’ man. The good channels, too. No commercials.”
He grinned and nodded in satisfaction, like that was the kind of Heaven he could believe in, one where joy streamed without interruptions.
“Good. Then Mommy can still watch cartoons with me.”
I kissed the top of his head, and for a split second, I felt whole. The weight in my chest eased just enough to breathe. Not healed, but a torn quilt stitched by my Nana Nell still keeping me warm.
We finished up, and as he put on his sneakers, he looked up. “Daddy,… when I grow up, I want to smell fancy too. Like pancakes and cologne.”
I smiled. “You will, champ. You gon’ smell like fresh fades, good grades, and a daddy that got them hands.”
He laughed so hard he almost tipped over. “That don’t sound fancy, Daddy.”
“Trust me, it is.”
He grabbed his backpack. “Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for brushing my hair, even when you don’t know what you doing.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Boy, go brush your teeth. And don’t forget your tongue.”
He gave a sheepish grin. “Yes, sir.”
He ran back down the hall, his feet pounding joy into the floorboards. That boy carried the sound of hope without even trying.
I stood up, grabbed my badge, and my Sig Sauer. Not just the piece on my hip, but the one in my chest that I fought to maintain every day. I slipped on my Timbs and adjusted the chain I wore every day, the one with her name etched into the back of a small cross, a prayer carved in metal I refused to stop saying.
“Let’s get it, God,” I whispered to the mirror. “You lead. I follow.”
Even when the path is jagged, even when the silence is loud, even when my faith is faltering, I’m still walking behind You.
Little Legends Day Academy always smelled of fruit snacks, fresh crayons, and baby lotion. It was the place where childhood thrived with bright walls, cozy story time corners, and tiny backpacks brimming with dreams.
EJ skipped beside me as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He wore a Spider-Man hoodie, his curls wild from my half-hearted attempt at brushing them. I adjusted his collar mid-step and tightened the straps on his little backpack.
“Why you always do that, Daddy?” he asked, looking up at me with those big, brown eyes that looked too much like his mama’s.
“Doing what?” I responded, smiling at his tone.
“Checking on me. Touching my backpack. Wiping my mouth. I’m big now!”
I chuckled. “You’re four. You still eat yogurt, and it looks like a crime scene.”
He gasped. “That was one time!”
“One too many, lil’ man.”
We walked through the front doors, greeted by Ms. Tricia at the desk, her tight twist-out, long lashes, and the voice of a pre-K queen who ran her class like a tiny kingdom.
