Morgan’s chest heaved, as just the thought tore her in half. He walked away, headed to her bedroom as Morgan slid down the wall. The hard realization that she would never be able to leave Bash caused her to break down. He had caught a butterfly, one that was so beautiful he would rather watch it die than set it free.

19

“They’re finally down,” Messiah said as he looked down at the little bodies that occupied his bed. He had never been so exhausted. Putting the twins down for bed had taken hours. He didn’t know how Morgan managed to do it every night. He had only had them for a short time, and they had been more work than he had ever done. Realizing Morgan had been raising them for two years, carrying the burden without him, put guilt on his soul. Maybe she was justified for moving on, for finding a man who could help, because Messiah definitely needed help. He needed Bleu there just for the moral support alone. He and Bleu sat on the edge, afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loudly because waking the twins would be a disaster. “He knows them like a mu’fucka, B,” Messiah said, voice clipping in emotion. He sniffed it away, clearing his throat. “How do I get to know them like that? That type of shit ain’t in me. I’m too cold.” Messiah’s woe weighed down the room as a tear slid down the bridge of his nose. “Shorty killed me, man. She’s killing me with this shit.”

Bleu placed a hand on his back as he leaned forward. It was like she could feel his pain beneath the pads of her fingers. “You don’t have to love them like him, Messiah. You love them like you. You’re their father. No one can know them like you. You don’t have to get to know them, because they are of you. You are them. You already know everything there is to know about them,” Bleu said.