“I Ain’t Never Lost My Woman” — Famous Last Words
a modern au Smoke x Annie Oneshot | Family Edition
A/N: Based on this☝🏾post. I put my psychology degree to use on this one y'all. 🫣😂
W/C: 6.6k
C/W: Language, use of the n-word.
The Moore household on a Saturday afternoon feels like organized chaos held together by love, snacks, and Annie’s ability to yell someone’s full government name without moving her lips.
The girls inside arguing over nail polish colors — Yselle (10) claiming lavender is hers and Célise (7) insisting she saw it first. The baby, little Eliane (4), drifts around the house with her princess doll dragging behind her, humming whatever song she last heard in Annie’s car.
By contrast, the back patio was quiet.
Elijah “Smoke” Moore sat sunk into the plush patio loveseat he swore was more comfortable than any couch inside the house. Gray sweats, white tee, chain glinting every time the mounted flat-screen flickered with the football game. The late-afternoon breeze lifted the edge of his shirt, brushing over the tattoos sprawled across his forearms as he leaned back.
A cold beer sweated in his hand, condensation rolling over his knuckles. Every few seconds, the bottom of the can tapped against the arm of the chair—steady, absent, that same quiet rhythm he always fell into when his mind was working harder than he let on.
From the yard, you could hear the commentators shouting, the crowd roaring, and Smoke’s low grunt of approval every time the defense did their job. But even with the TV loud and the game good, he was watching more than he was really seeing—thinking.
Or pretending not to.
The screen door slams, and their fifteen-year-old son stumbles out, backpack still on like he walked home from war instead of a friend’s house.
“Pop…” EJ groans, collapsing into the seat next to Elijah.
Elijah keeps watching the game.
“Yeah?”
EJ hides his face in his hands. “I think… I think Camryn and I broke up.”
Elijah stops watching the game.
Turns his head just enough to look at him.
“Camryn who? Little girl with the butterfly notebook always writin’ yo’ name?”
“Yes!” EJ practically wails.
“Well,” Elijah says slowly, “she had taste. Can’t account for judgment.”
“POP.”
Elijah grunts. “Aight, what happened?”
EJ takes a shaky breath. “She said she wants… a break.”
Elijah lifts a brow.
“A break from what? Y’all algebra homework?”
“POP.”
Elijah shrugs.
“You asked.”
“I’m serious,” EJ pleads. “I’m sad.”
Elijah leans back, sinking into the plush seat cushion beneath him. “Mhmm. I hear you.”
“You don’t sound like it.”
“I do.”
He takes a sip of beer. “Don’t trip, son. Y’all young. When she grow up and her brain turn on, she gon’ realize she fumbled somethin’ good.”
“DADDY.”
“WHAT?” Elijah argues. “That’s encouragement.”
EJ groans and drops his head to his knees. “I don’t know what to do.”
Elijah looks at him for a long moment. Then says, matter-of-fact:
“Well, I can’t help you, son. I don’t know what it’s like to lose my woman.”
He gives a helpless shrug.
“That’s you on some other shit.”
EJ jerks his head up, scandalized.
“If Mama was out here—”
“She’s not out here,” Elijah interrupted calmly.
Inside the open window above them, Annie is absolutely out here.
Or at least listening like the FBI with headphones on.
She freezes in place, holding a laundry basket against her hip, jaw slowly dropping.
…now I know this nigga not out here rewritin’ history. Ol’ lyin’ ass.
She steps into view at the kitchen window.
EJ sees her first.
“MAMA! Mama, Pop out here lyin’!”
Elijah doesn’t even turn around.
“Boy, stop bein’ a snitch.”
Annie emerges onto the porch with the full force of a woman who has receipts filed alphabetically and highlighted.
“ELIJAH MOORE,” she says sharply.
Elijah sighs like the universe is unfair.
“Damn, I ain’t even said it that loud.”
“Oh, you said it loud enough,” Annie says, placing the basket down. “You told our son you don’t know what it’s like to lose yo’ woman.”
“I don’t!” Elijah argues. “I still got you, don’t I?”
“Mm-hmm,” Annie says, crossing her arms. “2006 ring a bell?”
Elijah blinks.
Hard.
EJ turns so fast his neck cracks.
“…what happened in 2006?”
Elijah tries a weak attempt at gaslighting the timeline.
“Nothing—”
“EVERYTHING,” Annie cuts in.
“Annie—”
“You lost me for THREE MONTHS. And you told this child you don’t know what it feels like?”
EJ looks betrayed.
“POP YOU WAS DOWN BAD?”
Elijah glares at Annie.
“Woman, can we NOT—”
“Nope,” Annie says, dropping into one of the patio chairs like she came prepared with popcorn. “You wanna teach him? Let’s teach him what heartbreak looks like from BOTH sides.”
Elijah puts a hand over his face.
“Lord…”
“Tell him you cried,” Annie adds.
“I—STOP TELLIN’ MY BUSINESS.”
“You DID cry.”
“C’mon Mane—!”
EJ turns to Annie, starry-eyed.
“Mama, tell me EVERYTHING.”
Annie exhales, shifting into storyteller mode.
“Alright, baby. Let Mama give you the real tea.”
Elijah leans back and mutters under his breath, “This woman gon’ embellish like hell…”
Annie ignores him, eyes going distant with memory.
“It was raining that night, baby. I had just come home from work, and your daddy—he was already on edge. And when I asked him one simple question…”
Elijah groans loudly.
“Here go the dramatics—”
Annie speaks OVER him.
“…he shut down. Like he always did back then.”
EJ looks at Elijah.
“…you shut down?”
“I grew since then!” Elijah argues. “Damn, can a man evolve?!”
Annie snickers.
“Not fast enough.”
EJ looks between them, hanging on every word.
Annie leans forward, elbows on her knees.
“That night changed everything… because when I walked out that door, your daddy let me go.”
EJ’s eyes widen.
Elijah’s jaw clenches.
Annie turns her head, eyes meeting Elijah’s — soft, knowing, and a little amused.
“You SHOULD tell him what you learned from that.”
Elijah watches her for a moment.
Then sighs, dropping his head in resignation.
“That pride’ll ruin you if you let it,” he mutters. “Back then… I let it. And I damn near lost your mama for good because I ain’t know how to open my mouth and just say I was scared.”
EJ frowns. “Scared of what?”
Smoke looks out over the yard — like the memory sits there under the pecan tree waiting on him.
“Everything.”
Annie reaches over, touches his knee.
Elijah’s hand covers hers.
Automatically.
2006 - Young Annie. Young Elijah. Young and so in love they were stupid with it.
The rain had been coming down since late afternoon, the kind that hits sideways and makes the whole world feel smaller. Annie’s curls were frizzing at the edges by the time she lugged her bag up the stairs to the little apartment she and Elijah shared.
Two jobs.
Eight hours on her feet.
Another two picking up extra shifts.
She was bone-tired, clothes sticking to her from kitchen steam and weather humidity.
But none of that was why her chest hurt.
It was the way Elijah had been acting for weeks—
Quiet.
Closed off.
Going out and not saying where.
Coming back and collapsing into bed like the world was on his shoulders but refusing to hand her even a corner of the weight.
She unlocked the door quietly.
Inside, Elijah was pacing.
His hoodie was half-zipped, hood up. He always did that when something ate at him—like he was trying to hide inside himself.
Keys in his hand.
Phone in his pocket.
Restless energy all around him.
He didn’t even notice her walk in at first.
“Elijah?” Annie said softly.
His head snapped up—too quick.
“Oh. You home.”
“You good?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
He said it too fast, staring at the floor too long to mean it.
The exhaustion inside Annie pressed against something tender.
All she’d wanted today was to come home to him.
To feel close.
To not feel like she was dating a shadow.
So she asked the question she’d been holding:
“Where you go last night?”
He froze.
And Annie knew—before he said a single word—that this was the hill he was going to die on.
He shrugged. “Out.”
“With who?”
“Just… out.”
“That ain’t no answer, Elijah.”
His jaw clenched. “Annie, not tonight.”
“No—tonight IS the night.”
Her voice trembled despite her trying so hard to be calm.
“You been out damn near every night this week. Comin’ in when the sun already up. You don’t talk to me. You don’t let me in.”
His shoulders rose and fell—defensive.
“Mane, why you always gotta get in my fuckin’ head?”
“‘Cause I’m IN yo’ fuckin’ life, Elijah!” she snapped. “I’m yo’ girl. I love you—what part of that look like a problem?”
He winced, eyes flicking away.
Annie stepped forward, pleading now.
“Baby, whatever goin’ on wit’ you, you don’t gotta handle it by yo’self. Just tell me somethin’. Anything.”
“You ask too many questions.”
Annie’s chin lifted a little, but her voice stayed calm — steady in a way that made the room feel smaller.
“If you answered me the first time, I wouldn’t have to keep askin’. I ain’t tryna argue with you—I’m tryna understand you.”
Elijah scoffed under his breath, irritated and defensive.
“Mane, that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ ’bout — all the questions.”
She sucked in a tight breath.
“I’m not yo’ opp. Why you actin’ like I’m out to hurt you?”
He flinched—just barely. Enough that she saw it.
And that made everything inside her ache.
“Elijah,” she said quietly, “why you shut me out every time somethin’ get hard?”
“I don’t shut you out.”
“Yes. You do.”
She gestured to him—hood up, posture defensive, keys in hand like he was already halfway out the door.
“You literally shuttin’ me out right now.”
He looked away.
That hurt worse than yelling.
Annie swallowed, voice soft and honest and trembling:
“I can’t love somebody who won’t let me love ’em.”
Something cracked in Elijah’s expression.
A flicker of fear.
Vulnerability.
The kind of look that said he felt everything she said—
and didn’t know what to do with it.
“Maybe I’m just not good at this shit,” he whispered.
“Then let’s learn together,” she pleaded. “I want to. I want YOU. But you keep pushin’ me off like I’m askin’ for somethin’ crazy.”
Silence.
Rain hammered the windows.
Elijah opened his mouth—
Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
Then said nothing.
Instead, he muttered the words that would break them:
“…Mane, do what you want.”
Annie blinked.
“You serious right now?”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t feel like doin’ this.”
“Doin’ what? Communicatin’? Bein’ honest? Lovin’ me back?”
He threw his hands up. “Mane, Annie—chill out!”
“Chill OUT?” she scoffed. “So you can keep bein’ dry and weird? Nah, I ain’t chillin’ nothin’.”
He didn’t answer.
And that?
That was enough.
Annie grabbed her purse with hands that weren’t steady.
“… you not gon’ keep treatin’ me like I’m disposable. I’m not beggin’ you to talk to me. Not doin’ that.”
“Mane, c’mon…” he muttered—but he didn’t move toward her. Didn’t take her hand. Didn’t reach for her.
Annie waited.
One beat.
Two.
Three.
He didn’t come.
So she opened the door.
The rain echoed down the hallway behind her, cool air sweeping across her face.
“Elijah,” she said one last time, voice breaking, “I can only knock on a closed door so many times. I’m done.”
And she walked.
He didn’t stop her.
The door closed behind her like a quiet, devastating final word.
Elijah wasn’t built for stillness.
Stillness let thoughts get too loud.
Stillness made you hear your heartbeat in ways that felt like warnings.
Stillness meant acknowledging the things he ignored so well when he was moving.
So after Annie left, he moved.
He paced.
He drove.
He lifted.
He cleaned parts of the apartment he didn’t know existed.
He scrubbed dishes like they made a personal attack on him.
Anything but sit with the truth that he had driven the best thing in his life away.
But stillness always found him anyway.
Usually around 2 or 3 a.m., when the apartment felt too dark and the bed felt too empty.
He’d roll over automatically, hand sliding toward her side—
And catch himself.
Every time.
That sinking, gut-pulling moment when his palm hit cool sheets instead of soft curls and warm skin.
It was a physical ache.
He never told anyone that part.
Stack didn’t knock.
He never did.
“Bro,” Stack said, stepping inside with a bag of takeout. “You look like shit.”
Smoke was slumped on the couch, hoodie up, hood strings pulled tight like he wanted to disappear inside it.
“’Preciate it,” Smoke muttered.
“You eat?”
“Nah.”
“I figured.” Stack tossed the food onto the table. “You talk to her yet?”
Smoke didn’t look up.
“Drop it.”
“Why?” Stack asked, sitting across from him. “You scared?”
Smoke’s eyes flashed.
“Ain’t nobody scared.”
Stack arched a brow.
“You sure? ’Cause you actin’ like somebody who scared.”
Smoke’s jaw flexed.
“I ain’t chasing nobody.”
Stack shrugged.
“Cool. Let your pride suck yo’ dick at night then.”
Smoke finally snapped, “Mane, she wanted space!”
“No,” Stack corrected, leaning forward.
“She wanted you. She just didn’t want the wall you keep standin’ behind.”
Smoke looked away.
Stack went quiet for a moment, studying him.
“You miss her?” he finally asked.
The question hit the tender part Smoke had been protecting.
He didn’t answer.
Stack sighed, softer now.
“Smoke… you can’t act like losing her don’t matter. If you want her back, go say it. If you don’t, then fine. But don’t sit here sulking like somebody stole yo’ puppy.”
Smoke’s throat tightened.
Stack stood, heading for the door.
“Either you go to her, or some other nigga will. And I promise… seein’ that shit gon’ hurt worse than anythin’ y’all argued about.”
That sentence landed harder than Stack intended.
Because deep down, Smoke knew it was true.
It happened on a Wednesday night.
Elijah was standing in the kitchen with the fridge door open, staring at a shelf full of leftovers he didn’t want.
His phone buzzed.
He snatched it up so fast the charger ripped out of the wall.
Only to see a bank notification.
Not Annie.
Not a text.
Not a missed call.
Not anything from her.
And the silence hit him harder than any argument ever had.
He sat down at the table, head hanging, palms pressed to his eyes.
He whispered into the empty room, “Damn, Annie…”
The quiet answered back, cold and lonely.
He didn’t cry—
Not then.
But he felt the pressure behind his eyes, felt that knot forming in his throat like barbed wire, felt the kind of ache no one prepares boys for growing up.
The kind that makes your chest heavy and your breath slow and everything inside you too full.
That night, he finally opened his contacts and typed her name into his phone.
ANNIE ❤️
He just stared at it.
His thumb hovered over the call button.
But still—
He didn’t press it.
Because pride wasn’t done with him yet.
He didn’t mean to go to her job again.
But he ended up there anyway, parked in the corner of the lot, hood up, hands gripping the steering wheel.
He told himself he just wanted to see if she looked okay.
Make sure she was eating.
See if she wore that soft pink lip gloss he loved.
But that wasn’t why.
The truth?
He wanted to see if she looked sad.
Wanted to know she missed him even half as much as he missed her.
But Annie didn’t look sad.
She looked tired, but she smiled at her coworkers. She joked with the girl at the register. She pushed her hair behind her ear the way she did when she was in a good mood.
And then—
A guy approached her.
Tall.
Fade fresh.
Good-looking. Nah, he was aight, Elijah tried to tell himself.
Holding two coffees.
He handed her one.
Annie’s smile widened.
Elijah’s vision tunneled.
Not because she was smiling.
Not because the guy was talking to her.
But because—
For a split second, Annie looked light. Light in a way she hadn’t looked with him lately.
That was the knife.
That was what ripped him open.
In one instant, Elijah realized something impossible to swallow:
She was learning how to live without him.
He hated it.
Hated himself for letting it happen.
He gripped the steering wheel so tight veins popped across his forearm.
His chest felt tight.
His throat felt tight.
And before he could think, before pride could grab him by the collar—
He got out of the car.
Walked straight across the parking lot.
And said her name.
“Annie.”
Her whole body stiffened.
That smile vanished.
Her posture went guarded in half a second.
The coworker stepped back, sensing the tension.
Elijah swallowed hard.
“Can we talk?”
Annie crossed her arms.
“I’m on break.”
“I know.”
His voice was low.
“I won’t take long.”
She studied him—eyes softer than her voice.
“What you want, Smoke?”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You ain’t call me.”
“You ain’t call me.”
His breath stuttered.
She wasn’t wrong.
“I’m… I’m not good at this,” he admitted. “I ain’t know what you wanted.”
“I wanted you,” she whispered. “But I can’t reach for someone who backs up every time.”
He looked down.
She said gently, “why didn’t you come after me that night?”
Because he’d never been taught how.
Because pride was easier than vulnerability.
Because admitting he was scared felt like peeling skin off bone.
Because losing her suddenly felt permanent and he didn’t know how to stand in front of that without running.
He didn’t know how to say any of it.
So he forced out the smallest piece of truth he could:
“…I ain’t know how to fight for you.”
Annie’s breath caught.
Elijah kept going, voice shaking for the first time in his life:
“Ain’t nobody ever fought for me. Not once. And when you left… I ain’t know what to do. I ain’t know how to. I ain’t want to say somethin’ wrong and make it worse.”
Silence.
Rain starting to fall again, soft and steady.
Annie’s eyes softened—heart breaking for both of them.
“You don’t gotta come perfect,” she whispered. “You just gotta show up. Honestly.”
He stepped closer.
“I’m showin’ up now,” he said. “Tell me what to do.”
Annie took a slow breath.
For a moment, he thought she’d step into him.
Thought she’d fold.
Thought she’d give him the relief his chest was screaming for.
But Annie wasn’t that girl anymore.
Not after the hurt.
Not after the nights alone.
Not after realizing she deserved a love that didn’t have to be chased.
She shook her head.
“Smoke… no.”
He froze.
Her voice was soft, but steady:
“You got things you gotta work on. Real things. And you can’t fix ‘em through me.”
His mouth parted, but she held up a hand.
“Listen to me. You say you showin’ up now? Cool. But showin’ up one time ain’t enough. Apologizin’ outside my job ain’t enough. Wantin’ me back ain’t enough.”
Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t break.
“If you serious about me—if you serious about what we were—then you gon’ have to prove it. To yourself first. Then to me.”
Elijah felt something crack under his ribs.
“Annie—baby, I’m—”
She shook her head again.
“Don’t ‘baby’ me. I’m not takin’ you back just ‘cause you finally talkin’.”
Each word landed like truth carved in stone.
“You got growin’ to do, Smoke. Some questions you gotta ask yourself. Habits you gotta break and walls you gotta tear down. That ain’t a me job. That’s a you job.”
He swallowed hard—felt it burn all the way down.
She glanced at the door behind her.
“My break’s over.”
He blinked, tears in his eyes. “Already?”
“Yeah,” she said softly. “Already.”
She stepped back toward the door, rain misting around them.
Before she went inside, she looked at him one last time.
“Smoke,” she whispered, voice breaking just enough to prove she still loved him, “you can’t just come say sorry and expect everything to go back how it was.”
A beat.
One that bruised and healed at the same time.
“If you want me back…earn me. Change for real. Not for a day. Not after two weeks. But for real.”
Then she disappeared inside.
Leaving him outside—standing in the rain—with nothing but her last words echoing like truth he couldn’t outrun.
The door closed.
Just a soft click.
But it hit Elijah like someone slammed a casket shut.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe right.
Rain soaked his hoodie, sliding down his jaw, dripping from his lashes. He could hear muffled voices inside—the coworker talking, someone laughing, Annie answering a question.
Life continuing.
Without him.
He stood there long enough that the parking lot emptied out. Long enough that the rain shifted from steady to misty to steady again. Long enough that the coffee cup the coworker gave Annie got thrown out, and Elijah still hadn’t moved.
Finally, he dragged one hand down his face and whispered to nobody:
“Fuck…”
His voice cracked.
He headed back to his car, shoes squelching in little puddles. He sat in the driver’s seat but didn’t start the engine. He put both fists against his forehead, elbows on the steering wheel.
He whispered it again—the confession that hurt worse the second time:
“Fuck…”
She didn’t take him back. Not even close. She called him Smoke. He knew what that meant when she did that.
And for the first time, instead of getting mad, instead of shutting down, instead of running—it hit him:
She was right.
He wasn’t ready.
He wasn’t good for her yet.
He wanted to be.
He did.
But wanting wasn’t enough.
She saw through him.
Saw the parts he ignored.
Saw the work he never bothered to do.
He sat there, jaw clenching, eyes stinging, chest tight enough to hurt. He refused to cry.
He swallowed hard, grabbed his steering wheel with both hands, and growled low under his breath:
“Aight, Elijah.
Figure. It. Out.”
Stack opened the door on the second knock, shirt off, sweats on, a plate of microwaved pizza rolls in hand.
He raised a brow.
“Mane, you look like a wet raccoon.”
Elijah shoved past him.
Stack blinked, then shut the door. “Aight… so we havin’ a crisis?”
Elijah dropped onto the couch, hoodie dripping.
Stack sat across from him.
“Talk.”
Elijah didn’t. Not at first.
Stack sighed. “You go see her?”
Elijah’s jaw ticked.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“She ain’t take me back.”
Stack nodded slowly, blowing on a pizza roll.
“Yeah. You deserved that.”
Elijah glared. “Mane—”
“Nope.” Stack held up a hand. “You not finna come in here and bark at ME when YOU the one that fucked up.”
Elijah clenched his teeth, but he stayed quiet.
“Exactly,” Stack said. “Now what she say?”
Elijah leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
“She told me I gotta work on myself. Real shit. Stuff I can’t fix through her.”
Stack paused mid-chew.
“She said all that? Word for word?”
“Yeah.”
Stack nodded, impressed. “Good. She smart.”
Elijah glared again. “You enjoyin’ this?”
“A little.”
Then Stack put the plate down and leaned in.
“Elijah… you love that girl?”
Elijah didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
“You wanna be with her?”
“Yes.”
“You ready to do what she said?”
Elijah swallowed.
The kind of swallow that hurts going down.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I’m ready.”
Stack clasped his shoulder.
“Aight then. Time to grow the fuck up, brother.”
It wasn’t glamorous.
It wasn’t pretty.
Growth never is.
Day 1:
Elijah went home and sat with himself.
Really sat.
Phone down.
TV off.
No distractions.
Just him and the silence he hated.
And he asked himself questions Annie had asked him for months:
Why do you shut down when you feel something?
Why do you walk away when someone tries to love you?
Why can’t you be honest without getting defensive?
And the answers came slow, heavy, painful:
Because he was terrified.
Because nobody taught him how to be open.
Because hiding was easier.
Because he didn’t think he deserved somebody like her long-term.
Because letting her see him scared felt like weakness.
Day 3:
He started journaling.
Yes, journaling.
Stack handed him a notebook and said, “Stop lookin’ scared. It’s just paper, nigga.”
Elijah wrote stuff like:
“I don’t wanna lose Annie.
But I don’t wanna keep breakin’ her either.
I wanna be someone who deserves her.”
Day 5:
He talked to Stack for real.
Not surface-level bro talk.
Actual feelings.
He hated every second of it—but he kept talking.
Stack listened without clowning him (too much).
Day 10:
He stopped disappearing at night.
Stopped driving around avoiding home.
Stopped distracting himself from thinking.
He sat with the fear instead of running from it.
Day 14:
He practiced saying things out loud:
“I’m scared.”
“I don’t know the right words.”
“I don’t wanna lose you.”
“I’m trying.”
Practiced them in the mirror.
Felt stupid.
But he practiced anyway.
She noticed.
Not because he told her—but because his patterns changed.
He wasn’t popping up unannounced.
Wasn’t sending long apology texts.
Wasn’t begging.
Wasn’t making promises he couldn’t keep.
Instead:
He respected her space.
He focused on himself.
He grew quietly.
He showed consistency.
He left a note on her car one morning:
“I’m workin’ on me. Not for a day. For good.”
No signature.
He didn’t need one.
She read it twice.
Then tucked it into her purse.
A month after that parking lot conversation, Annie saw him by accident.
She was leaving work.
Arms full of folders.
Curls tied up.
Sweat on her temples.
She spotted him across the street—hood down for once, hands in his pockets, eyes soft instead of defensive.
He didn’t cross over to her.
Didn’t call her name.
Didn’t chase.
He just nodded at her.
A small gesture.
Respectful.
Controlled.
A gesture that said:
I’m not here to pressure you.
Just here.
Still here.
Her heart did something small and painful and warm all at once.
She nodded back.
And that was it.
But it was enough.
A seed planted.
The beginning of believing he might actually change.
It happened on a Thursday.
Not a special day.
Not an anniversary.
Not anything symbolic.
Just a regular Thursday evening when the sky was purple and gold, the air humid, and Annie was walking home from the bus stop with her headphones in, replaying the past month in her head.
She had seen changes in Elijah.
Real ones.
Not loud, not showy — but quiet, steady, consistent.
He wasn’t popping up at her job.
He wasn’t blowing her phone up.
He wasn’t begging for forgiveness.
He was working.
On himself.
With Stack.
With that notebook he kept folded in his back pocket.
And tonight…she felt something shift inside her.
Not softness.
Not forgiveness.
But readiness.
When she got home and set her bag on the table, something in her paused.
She wanted to talk to him.
Actually talk.
So she sent a text.
“If you free, come by. We can talk.”
She regretted it immediately, pacing in circles.
Until she heard the knock.
A slow, respectful knock.
Not pounding.
Not desperate.
Just… present.
Her heart thudded.
She opened the door.
Elijah stood there in a black tee, jeans, and that chain she loved, but he looked different.
Not in his clothes—in his posture. Hood down. Shoulders relaxed. Eyes calm, not frantic.
He looked like a man who’d been doing work.
Hard work.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey,” she echoed.
They stood there for a moment — the kind that stretches time — before she stepped aside and let him in.
He walked slowly, carefully, like entering her space was a privilege now, not a guarantee.
She motioned toward the couch.
He sat first.
She sat across from him.
Silence filled the room — not tense this time, but open.
Finally, Elijah spoke.
“I’m not gon’ waste your time.”
Annie’s breath stalled.
He continued:
“I been workin’. On me. Not pretend work. Not ‘say sorry so you take me back’ work. Real shit.”
He paused, palms open on his knees, fingers slightly trembling.
“I been askin’ myself the hard questions. The ones you used to ask me and I ain’t have the words for.”
Annie swallowed.
“What answers you get?”
His eyes lifted to hers.
“That I been scared for a long time. Scared of losin’ you, scared of needin’ you, scared of lettin’ you see me weak. I pushed you away ‘cause it felt easier than bein’ real.”
Her throat tightened.
“And?”
“And I don’t wanna be that man no more.”
His voice didn’t shake — but it was close.
“For you. But… for me too.”
He leaned back slightly, letting the words sit in the air.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me tonight. I don’t expect you to say yes. I don’t expect you to make it easy.”
He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees.
“All I want is for you to know I’m here. For real this time. Not runnin’. Not hidin’. Not shuttin’ down when shit get hard.”
Annie stared at him.
Really stared.
And for the first time, the wall behind his eyes wasn’t there.
“Elijah…” she whispered, voice trembling. “I’m scared too.”
He nodded slowly. She called him Elijah…finally.
“I know. And I won’t rush you.”
Her eyes shined.
“What do you want?” she asked softly.
He inhaled.
“YOU,” he said simply. “Not the easy version. Not the version that put up with my bullshit. I want the you that walked away because she knew what she deserved. I want the chance to match that.”
She pressed a hand over her mouth, tears slipping.
“Elijah…”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t reach for her.
Didn’t try to hug her or pull her in.
He let her choose.
And that — more than anything — told her he’d grown.
Slowly, shakily, Annie crossed the room and sat next to him.
Not touching.
Not leaning.
Just close.
“I’m willing to try again,” she whispered. “But slow. And you gotta keep doin’ the work. Even when it ain’t fun.”
He nodded hard.
“I will.”
“And if we doin’ this—”
her voice thickened
“—you don’t get to disappear on me no more.”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t get to shut down when you scared.”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t get to let pride talk for you.”
“I won’t.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Elijah… don’t break me again.”
He finally reached for her hand — slow, gentle — giving her time to pull away.
She didn’t.
He laced their fingers together.
“I ain’t letting you go this time.”
And Annie — exhausted, hopeful, scared, and still in love — leaned into him.
Just enough to say:
“Okay.”
Getting back together didn’t fix everything overnight.
They took it slow.
Week 1 — Boundaries & Honesty
Annie set rules.
“Don’t leave me guessing’.”
“Say when you’re overwhelmed.”
“No silent treatment.”
“No shuttin’ down.”
Elijah kept a notebook in his pocket — something Stack teased him for but admired anyway.
Whenever he felt himself closing up, he’d step away, write his thoughts, then come back and talk.
It wasn’t perfect.
Some nights he still stumbled.
But he didn’t run.
Not once.
Week 2 — Relearning Each Other
They didn’t jump back into intimacy.
Instead:
They took walks.
Cooked together.
Watched dumb movies.
Sat on opposite sides of the couch and talked until 2 a.m.
Shared fears.
Shared dreams.
Shared stories Elijah had never given anyone.
Annie said it gently one night:
“You okay with bein’ seen now?”
And Elijah answered honestly:
“I’m learnin’ how to be.”
Week 3 — Showing Up
He started showing up to her job with boundaries.
Not popping in.
Not checking on men.
Just to walk her home.
Quietly.
Respectfully.
He’d say:
“You good?”
“You eat today?”
“What you need from me right now?”
And Annie realized:
He was learning.
Really learning.
Week 4 — Forgiveness Begins
She didn’t forgive him in a single moment.
It was a slow softening.
The way he listened.
The way he didn’t get defensive.
The way he apologized without excuses.
The way he let her cry once — really cry — over how much he’d hurt her.
He held her but didn’t try to “fix” it.
He just said:
“I hear you. Keep goin’.”
And she did.
Week 5 — When Love Found Its Way Back In
They were sitting on her couch, her head on his shoulder, watching a movie they weren’t paying attention to.
Elijah turned his head and whispered:
“I missed you.”
Annie whispered back:
“I missed you.”
Then they kissed.
Slow.
Careful.
Earned.
Nothing rushed.
The kind of kiss that started slow but deepened—his hand on her waist, her fingers running under his shirt, both of them leaning in like they’d been starving for each other.
Kissing that turned into breathing each other in.
Kissing that turned into—
“WHOA—okay, okay, okay—Y’ALL can stop right there.”
EJ threw his hands up, face twisted like he’d just smelled spoiled milk.
“I do NOT need all this information.”
Annie laughs. Elijah smirks.
“Boy, shut up,” Elijah says, flicking EJ’s ear. “Let us finish this damn story.”
“No, PLEASE don’t finish it,” EJ begs, cringing. “I’m beggin’ y’all. My ears—my innocence—”
Annie swatted his knee. “Relax. We ain’t gon’ traumatize you.”
Elijah rolls his eyes. “Anyway—before I was rudely interrupted…”
They kissed.
Slow.
Careful.
Earned.
Nothing rushed.
The kind of kiss that said:
We made it through that storm.
Let’s build something better now.
The Future
That foundation became everything:
EJ.
Yselle.
Célise.
Eliane.
A home full of laughter and loud voices and love that had been sharpened by struggle, but not broken by it.
Elijah never stopped doing the work.
Never stopped showing up.
Never stopped choosing Annie.
And Annie?
She never accepted less than she deserved again.
Together — they became the kind of love you fight for and the kind of parents who teach their son how to love gently and their daughters how to expect to be loved right.
Back to Present
The patio finally quiets down.
The cicadas hum.
The wind moves slow through the pecan tree.
EJ, now sits on the steps on the front porch, elbows on his knees, staring out into the street like he’s solving the mysteries of the universe.
Annie and Elijah exchange a look from the front door — the one that says, go on, let's sit with our boy.
They both join him on the steps — Elijah on one side, Annie on the other.
EJ sighs, long and heavy.
“So… what do I even do now?”
Elijah nudges him with a shoulder.
“You tell us. After hearin’ all our business… what you think you learned?”
EJ pauses, looks at both of them, then squints at Elijah.
“What I learned? Besides the fact that my Daddy lies.”
Annie snorts so fast she chokes on her own spit.
Elijah jerks back. “Boy—what?!”
EJ shrugs, lips twitching. “I mean… you DID say you ain’t never lost Mama.”
He leans back dramatically. “Whole time you was outside cryin’ in the rain like a sad R&B video.”
Annie covers her mouth, wheezing.
“He got you, babe. He really got you.”
Elijah glares at both of them.
“First of all, ain’t nobody cry in no damn rain.”
Annie pats his back. “Mhm. Sure, baby.”
EJ laughs harder. “It’s okay, Pop. You still my guy.”
He taps Elijah’s arm. “Just next time? Just gone and tell the truth from the beginning.”
Elijah looks betrayed.
“I can’t believe I told y’all my business just for y’all to clown me.”
Annie kisses his cheek. “We clown you anyway.”
EJ then picks at a loose thread on his jeans, humor fading into something more thoughtful.
“I dunno,” he mumbles. “That I shouldn’t just… disappear ‘cause my feelings hurt. That I shouldn’t make her guess what I think.”
Annie nods softly.
“Mhm. Good.”
“And like…” He huffs. “I ain’t gotta act tough about it.”
Elijah mutters, “Facts.”
EJ glances up.
“And I should fight for her a little, right? Not beg, but like… show up?”
Annie leans her head against EJ’s shoulder.
“Baby, listen. Love isn’t about who chases the hardest. It’s about honesty. Consistency. Being real without being reckless.”
Elijah adds, “And don’t be petty.”
EJ rolls his eyes. “I ain’t petty.”
“Yes, you are,” Annie and Elijah say in unison.
He groans. “Okay, maybe a little.”
Annie smiles and brushes his loc from his forehead.
“So here’s what you do,” she says gently.
“You text Camryn. Something simple. You don’t beg. You don’t guilt her. And don’t hit her wit’ a paragraph.”
Elijah cuts in:
“Please don’t hit that girl wit’ a paragraph.”
Annie gives him a look. “Babe.”
“What? That ‘ChatGPT’ text gon’ send her runnin’.”
EJ laughs despite himself.
Annie turns back to their son.
“You say: ‘I hear you. If you need space, I respect that. But I’m here when you’re ready to talk.’
“Calm. Mature. No drama.”
Elijah nods. “Solid. Grown. That show her you not a little boy.”
EJ slowly nods, absorbing it.
“And after that?” he asks.
“After that,” Annie says, “you actually give her space. Not pretend space.”
“Meaning,” Elijah adds, “you don’t go postin’ sad lyrics on yo’ stories.”
“Pop—!”
“You don’t subtweet her.”
“Maaaann—!”
“And DEFINITELY don’t flirt with nobody else tryin’ to make her jealous.”
EJ throws his hands up. “Okay, okay! Dang! I get it!”
Elijah smirks.
“That last one sound real familiar, huh? YOU prolly tried that lil’ jealous stunt already.”
“DADDY!”
Annie covers her laugh with her hand.
Then her voice shifts — warm, serious.
“Baby… you don’t gotta be perfect. None of us are. But you can be honest. You can be patient. You can show her you ain’t switchin’ up.”
EJ stares at the yard again.
He nods slowly.
“I think I can do that.”
Elijah leans back on his palms, exhaling into the evening air.
“That’s all relationships are, son. Showin’ up. Over and over. Even when you scared.”
EJ glances between them.
“Did that… really change things for y’all? For real?”
Annie slides her hand over Elijah’s.
Elijah looks at her, eyes soft.
“Yeah,” he says simply. “It did.”
Annie squeezes their son’s shoulder.
“And it can change things for you, too. But if it don’t? That’s okay too, baby.
Elijah nodded. “Yo’ mama right. Trust me, son — one breakup ain’t end of the whole world. You gon’ have more love in your life. More chances. More lessons. You got a whole life ahead of you.”
EJ breathes out, steadier now.
He stands to go inside, pausing at the screen door.
“Thank you. For tellin’ me the truth. Even the embarrassing parts.”
Annie smiles.
Elijah groans.
EJ grins and disappears inside.
“Alright,” he says. “I’ll text her.”
The screen door creaks shut.
Elijah wraps an arm around Annie’s waist, pulling her into his side.
“You think he gon’ be alright?” he asks quietly.
Annie rests her head on his shoulder.
“I think he’s gonna be better than alright. He’s learning earlier than we did.”
Elijah kisses the top of her head.
“Good. I want him to love easy. Not heavy like we had to learn.”
Annie murmurs, “He’s got a good example now.”
Elijah smirks a little.
“Yeah? Which one of us you talkin’ about?”
Annie nudges him.
“Both of us.”
They sit there awhile, the sun dipping lower, the porch steps warm beneath them.
Behind the door, EJ’s voice comes alive again —
Yselle complaining, Célise defending herself, Eliane suddenly crying about a marker cap that won’t go back on.
Elijah sighs, “Damn… back to work.”
Annie grins.
“Our circus.”
Elijah stands and pulls her up with him.
“Our circus,” he repeats, kissing her forehead.
“And we the clowns,” Annie says, laughing.
Elijah groans. “Speak for yo’self.”
They step inside together — a team, a partnership, two people who fought hard for each other and won.
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