Page 163 of When Love Takes Root

His arm was around my waist in the photo. JJ was mid-blink. Kayden was trying to look tough with baby teeth. Maya’s hairbow leaned to the side. Zuri was eating watermelon. Skye slept against my hip with one shoe missing.

I hadn’t moved that picture.

I’d moved plenty after the funeral. Clothes. Work boots. His favorite mug, though only from the counter to the cabinet because throwing it away felt like betrayal with a handle. I’d changed our sheets, changed the porch light he never got around to fixing, changed the side of the bed I slept on because the old side kept making my hand reach across cold sheets.

But that picture stayed.

Josiah stepped inside and saw it.

He took in the frame without staring too long or looking away too fast. His eyes touched the picture, then returned to me with something gentle enough to tighten my throat.

“Beautiful family.”

Two words.

No pity.

“Thank you.”

Kayden dropped his backpack near the stairs hard enough for the sound to pop against the wall.

I looked at him. “Pick that up.”

He picked it up.

Obedience pulled his hand back before pride could make him reckless.

Josiah acted like he hadn’t noticed, which made me notice it more. Having someone new in your house made every familiar thing stand under brighter light. The shoe pile by the stairs. The little dent in the hallway from when Skye tried to cartwheel indoors. The empty hook where Jamal’s work jacket used to hang. The way my children moved around my mood because all of us had learned how to listen for loss before it spoke.

“Kitchen. Everybody, wash your hands. Maya, both earbuds out. Zuri, don’t touch the thermostat. Skye, spelling test on the counter. Kayden, backpack upstairs. JJ, can you get the pitcher out the fridge?”

JJ kissed my cheek as he passed. “Yes, Mama Cee.”

That name always found the softest part of me.

He’d started calling me Mama Cee when he was eight, right around the time he decided “Mommy” was for babies, but “Mom” sounded too plain for me. Jamal had teased him once, saying our son had given me a stage name. JJ had looked his daddy dead in the face and said I deserved one.

Now all my babies used it when they wanted something.

Josiah followed us into the kitchen and stopped near the island with sense. He didn’t open cabinets. He didn’t assume his hands belonged anywhere. He waited until I turned to him.

I pointed toward the grocery bag on the counter. “You can wash the lettuce, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

Kayden came back faster than I expected, backpack gone, attitude very much present. He leaned against the doorframe while Josiah washed his hands at the sink, his eyes moving from Josiah’s hands to the counter to the knife block like he was inspecting a crime scene.

“You cook too?” Kayden asked.

I cut my eyes at him. “Kayden.”

Josiah dried his hands with a paper towel. “Enough to keep myself alive.”

Kayden’s mouth barely moved. “So no.”

JJ pulled himself upright from the refrigerator, the pitcher hanging from his hand while his brow furrowed at Kayden. “Kay.”

Kayden lifted one shoulder, his face flat with fake innocence. “What? I asked.”