Morgan’s stomach tightened. She felt sick as she stood there, crying as the snow fell around them. She couldn’t hide from him. She couldn’t continue lying to him. She was terrified to admit the truth, but she knew that dying feeling he was describing. She was dying. Her twins were dying. They were half living because Daddy wasn’t home. Their daddy … Messiah … her daddy … Messiah. A part of their unit was missing in their lives, and it was a slow death. She knew. At least she thought she knew what he was going through, and she couldn’t bear it any longer.

“They’re yours, Messiah,” she said. “I tried to tell you. I tried to call you a thousand times, but you just left. The twins. Messari and Yara. They’re yours. They’re ours.”

The revelation crashed over him like waves, drowning him … the weight of her words was an anchor around his feet, pulling him under. He wrapped his large hands around her wrists and pulled her into him hard, jerking her. “Don’ t say that to me, Morgan … don’t…”

“They’re yours, Messiah!” she cried.

He took a step back, pushing her off him as balled fists went to his temples in anguish. “And you kept that shit from me?” The words were spoken in disbelief.

Morgan took a step toward him and reached for him, but Messiah slapped her hand off him, like she were infected, like she were contagious. His brow furrowed in distress. He was enraged. “Keep yo’ scan’lous ass the fuck over there before I slap the shit out of you, Mo.”

Morgan’s heart sank, and her eyes widened. “You weren’t here, Messiah! You left me!”

“They think that nigga is their daddy!” Messiah barked the words at her, screamed them so loudly that Morgan recoiled.

The porch light came on, and Ethic pushed open the screen door, carrying Yara in his arms.

“Mo, come inside,” he said.

Messiah froze when he saw his daughter, and tears came to her eyes.

“Ethic, I just need a minute with him—”

“Fuck you, Mo,” Messiah scoffed. “Time’s up, shorty. I ain’t got shit for you. I’m done. You got another man raising my kids. They call him Daddy.” Messiah’s fists wrapped around the railing of the porch, and he lowered his head as he tightened his grip. He was breaking. He was falling apart. His fight to live, to come back for her, had destroyed his ability to have children. The chemo had killed his manhood, made him sterile, and here Morgan was with two living, breathing, mini versions of him right in her possession. He sobbed, and Morgan reached for his shoulder.

“Ssiah…”

“Don’t touch me!” he said. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Morgan’s heart was shattered.

“Morgan, inside,” Ethic stated. Morgan rushed inside, crying, and Ethic opened the door wider for Messiah. “You too.”