Page 10 of When Love Takes Root

They stayed entirely still.

I pressed my forehead against his, weeping until my ribs ached. “Jamal, wake up. Please, baby. Please don’t do this.”

In the corner, Leilani covered her mouth, her shoulders heaving. Onyx drew her into his side and bowed his head, but his frame shook. I had seen Onyx anchor rooms that would have broken other men; seeing his collapse made the finality of the room press like lead against my throat.

I curled over Jamal, trying to weave my body into a bridge to pull him back across. Fifteen years of devotion, five children, a concert ticket waiting on the dresser, and a card still damp with my tears should have bought us more time.

Looking up through the blur, I forced a rasped whisper into the sterile air. “Heavenly Father, You gave me a love that looked like You. I don’t understand, but I trust You. Help our children. Cover their minds. Fill our home with angels, because I don’t know how to walk when my other half is gone. Give me strength I don’t have and peace I cannot reach. Please.”

The prayer fractured. I kissed his brow again, slow and lingering, trying to leave my love on his skin for the journey. “I choose you still,” I whispered. “Always.”

A sharp buzz cut through the quiet. Across the room, my mama’s name glowed on Leilani’s screen. Lani looked at me, eyes swollen, already lifting the phone to her ear, but I shook my head.

“No. I’ll tell her and the kids myself. They need to hear it from me.”

Saying the words tore a fresh, jagged hole through me. My babies. JJ carrying a man’s weight on boy’s shoulders. Kayden with his quiet, guarded heart. Maya, who felt everything too deeply. Zuri and her warm-toast love. Little Skye, folding her hands to ask for angels. I saw their faces one by one, and the floor tilted beneath my feet.

I buried my face in Jamal’s chest, listening for a heartbeat I already knew was gone. My breath turned to groans. In my fist, the card was a damp, ruined clump, the ink smeared where my fingers had dug deep.

But beneath my thumb, the last line remained legible:

I choose you right back.

I held those words while the room trembled, while the harsh lights exposed my ruin, and while somewhere beyond these concrete walls, my five children still lived in a world where their daddy was coming home.

Jamal Coleman had loved me out loud. He had loved me in kitchens, in grocery aisles, in quiet prayers, and in the crowded hum of my salon. Now, with my future shattered into glass at my feet, I clung to the only truth the dark couldn’t swallow.

Nothing could make that love silent.

Two Years Later

Lavender and vanilla clung to the air as morning crept through the blinds. My alarm blared, but I burrowed deeper beneath the comforter, unwilling to greet the day.

My hand found the cold stretch of mattress where Big J hadn’t slept in two years.

Time kept moving. My heart hadn’t.

I sat up slowly and reached for the candle on my nightstand etched with Psalm 34:18—The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

I lit it and watched the flame flicker, thinking of Jamal, whispering a prayer, hoping maybe he could see the light from Heaven.

Donnie McClurkin’s voice drifted through the room. “After you’ve done all you can, . . . you just stand.”

Some mornings, standing was the bravest thing I managed.

I reached for Jamal’s Bible. His worn notes filled the margins, but one sentence always found me. “God’s grace > my grief.”

My thumb traced the ink.

“Heavenly Father, thank You for this day and all it brings, even the pieces I’m not ready for. Let my hands serve and my smile shine, even when I feel broken. I miss him, God, but I trust You.”

Right on cue . . .

“Mommy! She’s been in my room again! She’s so annoying! Ugh!” Maya’s voice pierced through the morning stillness.

“Lord, give me the strength and the patience of Job in this parenting journey today, amen,” I muttered under my breath as I swung my legs out of bed.

I brushed my teeth and washed my face, meeting a reflection. Exhaustion lingered around my eyes, but quitting had never been an option. God, His grace, and my children kept pulling me forward.