Here's the final chapter before I catch this eight hour flight. Here y'all go, it's getting messy.

It had been two weeks since Martha had received that call from William, disguised as a Decatur Police officer. Two long weeks of agonizing thoughts of running scenarios in her mind, of wrestling with her guilt and shame. But now, there was no more waiting. She and Vince had finally made arrangements to drive down to Decatur.

Martha sat tensely in the passenger seat of their Toyota Camry as Vince gripped the steering wheel tight, his knuckles damn near turning white. His whole body was taut with anger, his mind spiraling in a dark, obsessive rage. The thought of Kayla living with another man—a trucker at that—was driving him crazy. He knew, without a doubt, that she was having sex with this Tank guy, and that shit didn't sit right with him.

Did she really think she could just run away and live her life like he wouldn't find her? Like she wasn't his to control?

Vince's jaw clenched as he switched lanes, weaving through traffic like a man on a mission. The drive from Richmond to Decatur was a smooth eight-hour trip, but every damn minute felt like an eternity. His thoughts were a storm, each one uglier than the last. He ran through all the ways he was going to punish Kayla once he got his hands on her.

He needed to remind her who the fuck she belonged to.

Meanwhile, Martha sat stiff beside him, her fingers nervously tapping against her thigh. Unlike Vince, her mind wasn't clouded with rage—it was drowning in regret. Gwen's words had haunted her every single day since Kayla left.

"You were a terrible mother, Martha. And you know it."

She couldn't argue with that.

Martha knew she had failed Kayla in every possible way—physically, emotionally, mentally. She had allowed the abuse. She had turned a blind eye to the way Vince looked at Kayla, the way he wanted her. She had known it was wrong, all of it, but she had been too weak, too cowardly to do anything about it.

And now... now her daughter was out in the world because she felt safer on the road than she ever did in her own home.

Martha swallowed hard, stealing a glance at Vince. His face was hard, his mouth pressed into a thin line as his hands tightened around the wheel.

She didn't know what he was planning exactly, but she knew it wasn't good.

For the first time in a long time, Martha wanted to do right by her daughter. She wanted to see Kayla, hold her, tell her she was sorry. But with Vince sitting beside her, driving faster and angrier by the second...

She wasn't sure if she'd ever get the chance.

Martha stared out of the window as the road signs blurred past, the familiar green and white markers counting down the miles to South Carolina. Closer to Georgia. Closer to Decatur. Closer to Kayla.

Her stomach clenched, twisting into knots so tight she could barely breathe. The further they got from Richmond, the heavier the weight on her chest became.

Vince, on the other hand, was stone-faced, his grip on the steering wheel still tight, his foot pressing harder on the gas as though he couldn't get there fast enough. His jaw ticked with every thought racing through his mind, and Martha could tell whatever was going through his head wasn't good.

Martha licked her dry lips, swallowing down the fear sitting heavy in her throat. "Vince..."

"What?" he snapped, eyes never leaving the road.

She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "When we get there, just... just let me talk to her first."

Vince let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "You really think she wanna hear what the fuck you got to say?" His voice was low, filled with irritation. "She don't give a damn about you, Martha. She left you in the dust. But me?" He let out a sharp breath. "She owe me."

Martha's heart dropped. Owe you?

"She don't owe you nothin', Vince," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Vince's head snapped toward her so fast she flinched.

"The fuck you just say?" His voice was tight, dangerous.

Martha gripped her purse, fingers digging into the worn leather. "I said she don't owe you nothing."

Vince stared at her for a long second, his knuckles whitening around the wheel. Then he let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "You always been a dumb bitch," he muttered under his breath.

Martha clenched her teeth, fighting back the hot sting of humiliation.

She turned back toward the window, pressing her trembling fingers against her lap.

The road stretched ahead of them, pulling them closer to Decatur.

Closer to Kayla.

And Martha knew—deep in her gut—that once they got there, everything was about to change.

Kayla awoke with a strange feeling in her stomach. She didn't know why but she felt strange. Kayla pressed a hand to her stomach, her fingers grazing the slight curve that had begun to form. Something felt off. It wasn't a sharp pain, nor was it unbearable. But it was a feeling she couldn't shake—something unsettling brewing inside her.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deep, trying to convince herself it was just the baby moving, maybe shifting in her womb. That had to be it. She was fifteen weeks now, and though she hadn't felt the baby kick just yet, she'd read that flutters could happen around this time.

But something about this feeling wasn't just physical. It was deep, something gnawing at her spirit.

Still, she shook it off and focused on her morning routine.

Tank had already made it clear—no heavy lifting. She knew he meant well, and honestly, she didn't mind it too much. Miss Sherri had been extra attentive too, keeping a close eye on her, making sure she wasn't doing too much. Kayla didn't mind that either. It felt good being protected, cared for.

And Tank?

That man hadn't shut up about their baby since the day she peed on those sticks. He had already spoken life into this child, already claiming him as his son even before they got the ultrasound to confirm the gender. Every time he looked at her, touched her belly, kissed her skin, she felt it—she was his, and he was hers.

He had even surprised her with the Bronco. The fact that he had gone out of his way to make sure she was riding around in something safe and sturdy, made her heart swell. And he had a proposal planned. She didn't know all the details, but Miss Sherri had been dropping hints, and Tamera couldn't stop grinning every time she was around her.

Kayla wasn't the type to dream about weddings, but the idea of officially being Tank's? Having his last name? Carrying his child?

It felt right.

Now, she stood at the edge of the garden, eyes scanning the land where she had marked off the area for her apple orchard.

She was serious about this. She had been thinking about ways to make her own money, and she loved the idea of growing apples and making her own products—apple cider, apple jam, apple sauce, fresh-pressed juice. She could see it now, selling her own goods, making something of her own.

And of course, Tank was all in. He didn't just encourage her; he invested. He paid for the starter apple trees, making sure she had everything she needed to bring her vision to life.

Kayla smiled as she rubbed her belly, looking over the space she had mapped out.

But then, that feeling crept back up again. That unease.

Her stomach turned again—not in a way that made her sick, but in a way that made her pause.

Something was coming. She could feel it.

Shaking off the weird sensation, she turned back toward the house, her mind shifting to the pot of greens she planned to cook. That was her craving today—some good, slow-cooked collard greens with smoked turkey necks, cornbread, and some fried chicken.

Her baby wanted soul food, and so did she.

But as she stepped toward the house, her body tensed, and the fine hairs on her arms stood straight up.

That feeling was back.

And this time, it wouldn't let her ignore it.

Kayla neared the garden, her basket of fresh vegetables clutched in her hands, when she spotted a delivery truck idling at the gate of the compound.

At first, she thought nothing of it. Probably a package for Miss Sherri or one of Tank's brothers. But the second her eyes flickered past the delivery truck, her heart stopped.

A Toyota Camry.

That Toyota Camry.

The one she had spent her teenage years dreading, the one she had prayed she would never have to see again.

The color drained from her face as her stomach turned violently. Her mother. Vince.

Kayla felt the world tilt. No, no, no.

Her eyes darted frantically around the compound. Where was Tank? Where was Miss Sherri? Where was Terrance Sr.? Terrance Jr.? She needed somebody to stop this before it got out of hand.

The sight of her mother stepping out of the car made her chest tighten.

But it was Vince who sent pure terror slamming into her chest.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, the nausea nearly choking her.

And before she could think, she screamed.

"TANK!"

The sound tore through the air, raw and desperate, the same piercing scream she had when she woke up from her nightmares.

She never screamed like that unless it was bad—real bad.

Tank burst through the front door so fast the screen door slammed against the house, nearly coming off the hinges.

The look on his face was one Kayla had never seen before.

Rage. Fury.

Tank wasn't just mad. He was lethal.

Behind him, Terrance Sr., Terrance Jr., and Frank followed at a full sprint, their faces hard, unreadable—but the way their jaws clenched and hands balled into fists told Kayla they meant business.

But Vince didn't care. He stood tall, angry and arrogant, his voice booming as he pointed at her.

"You think your little fast ass could just run away from home?!" Vince barked, his face twisted in fury.

Kayla's stomach clenched. That tone. That voice. It sent her back to every night she had spent trapped under his rule, walking on eggshells, scared to breathe wrong.

Vince's cold, beady eyes finally locked onto Tank, and recognition flared in them.

He knew.

He remembered.

Tank was the trucker he had questioned that night—the one who had looked him in the face and told him he hadn't seen Kayla.

Vince's lip curled in disgust.

"You son of a bitch."

But Tank wasn't hearing none of it. His blood boiled as his fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles cracking from the pressure.

Because now, he knew for sure.

Now, he saw it.

The fear in Kayla's eyes. The way her body stiffened, like she wanted to disappear.

And he remembered what she had told him.

She never said the words outright, but she didn't have to.

Vince had touched her.

And that alone made Tank see red.

Miss Sherri came running out of the house, her apron still on, her hands covered in flour from making biscuits.

The second she saw Kayla hyperventilating, her chest rising and falling way too fast, panic crossed her face.

"What in the world is going on out here?!" she demanded, looking between Vince, Martha, and Tank, who looked like he was ready to kill a man with his bare hands.

Vince wasted no time twisting the story.

"Your little son here stole my stepdaughter!" Vince barked, his voice dripping with fake authority. "Kayla ran off like some fast-tailed little girl, layin' up with a grown-ass man, doin' God knows what! She ran away from home 'cause she didn't wanna follow the damn rules. She out here actin' grown, and y'all just let it happen? She ain't got no business bein' up under no trucker, no business—"

"Shut the fuck up."

Tank's voice was low, but it was deadly.

Vince ignored him, turning his beady eyes back on Miss Sherri, trying to appeal to her as a mother.

"I know you wouldn't want no man layin' up with your 18 year old girl. She out here pregnant by a nigga older than her! That don't seem right to you? That don't seem a little—"

CRACK!

Vince's head snapped to the side, his words cut short as Tank's fist collided with his jaw.

The hit was so hard, spit flew from Vince's mouth, his knees buckling as he stumbled back.

But Tank wasn't done.

Not even close.

Before Vince could recover, Tank swung again, this time busting his nose, sending blood splattering across the driveway.

"Tank!" Miss Sherri yelled, but it was too late.

Tank pounced on Vince, taking him to the ground, fist after fist landing on his face.

One punch. Another. Another.

He didn't give a single fuck about what Vince was spewing out his mouth.

Because he knew the truth.

He knew what this sick fuck had done.

And he'd be damned if he let Vince talk down on Kayla like she was the problem when he was the real monster.

"You put your hands on her?" Tank's voice was deep, each word punctuated with a punch.

Vince tried to block, but Tank was too strong, too angry, too determined to make him suffer.

"You touched her? Huh?!" Another punch.

Kayla's breath came out in short, panicked gasps, her hands shaking as she watched it unfold.

Vince barely had time to spit out blood before Tank's hands were around his throat.

Martha screamed.

Miss Sherri covered her mouth in shock.

Terrance Sr. and Terrance Jr. just watched, their arms crossed, not even trying to stop it.

Because they understood.

They weren't about to save a man like Vince.

Martha's screams pierced through the chaos.

"Somebody help! He's gonna kill him!"

Darling, Dominique, William, and Dina stood frozen, their eyes wide with shock as they watched the unfolding storm. from the comfort of their Range Rover in the distance.

But Tank didn't hear a damn thing.

All he saw was red.

Vince was on the ground, coughing up blood, barely able to lift his head before Tank charged at him again.

Fred and Frank lunged, grabbing Tank by his arms, trying to pull him back.

But Tank was bulging with rage, his muscles flexing violently, his breath coming out in heavy snarls as he fought against their grip.

Fred wrapped his arms around Tank's chest, trying to drag him back, but Tank was too strong, too wild, too determined.

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" Tank barked, his voice raw with unfiltered fury.

With one forceful jerk, he sent Fred flying back, nearly knocking him off his feet.

Fred stumbled, catching himself, but before he could make another move, Tank was already charging back toward Vince like a damn bull seeing red.

His fists were clenched, his jaw locked, his chest heaving with nothing but pure, murderous intent.

He wasn't just fighting—he was ready to end this man.

Right here. Right now.

That's when Terrance Sr. stepped in.

His voice boomed over the chaos.

"Enough!"

Tank was two seconds away from grabbing Vince by the throat again when his father's heavy grip landed on his shoulder.

Tank's breath shuddered, his fists still tight, his body tense as he turned to face his father.

Terrance Sr. had that look.

The one that meant sit your ass down before you do something you can't take back.

The only person who could get through to Tank in this moment was him.

"I know what he did. And trust me, son, he gon' get what's comin' to him. But not like this."

Tank's chest rose and fell, his heart hammering against his ribs, his fists still shaking with the urge to tear Vince apart.

But his father held firm.

Kayla was still shaking, still hyperventilating, her hand clutching her stomach protectively.

And that's when it hit him.

He wasn't just fighting for revenge.

He had something to protect.

Someone.

Tank let out a harsh breath, his jaw still tight with rage, but he took one step back.

Just one.

Terrance Sr. nodded, his grip still firm on his son.

Meanwhile, Vince lay coughing, groaning, his face swollen and bloody, looking like the piece of shit he was.

But Tank wasn't done.

His eyes cut down at Vince, voice low, dangerous, final.

"COME NEAR MY WOMAN AGAIN, AND I SWEAR TO GOD, YOU WILL NE SIX FEET UNDER."

Tank's body trembled in his father's grasp, his fists still clenched, his chest heaving with each breath as he tried to hold himself together. But the rage was suffocating. It burned through him, making his eyes sting, his throat tighten, his muscles twitch with the need to swing again.

His voice cracked with fury as he turned his glare on Martha. "You piece of shit." His voice was low, yet it cut through the air like a knife.

Martha flinched.

"You really turned a blind eye?" Tank's nostrils flared, his anger bleeding into every word. "You let him hurt your own child? Your firstborn?" His voice shook with disbelief, disgust, fury. "How could you?"

Martha's mouth opened, but nothing came out.

No excuse. No defense. Not a damn thing.

Because she knew.

She knew she had failed Kayla in the worst way imaginable.

The moment the words left Tank's mouth, Miss Sherri's sharp gasp cut through the air.

Her hand flew to her chest, her eyes widening in horror as she looked at Kayla—really looked at her.

Kayla broke down.

The embarrassment, the pain, the fear of facing this moment—it all crashed down at once.

Her body shook as the sobs ripped through her.

Miss Sherri snatched Kayla close, wrapping her arms around her, holding her as if she could shield her from it all.

"Oh, baby. Oh, my sweet baby." Miss Sherri's voice wavered, thick with emotion as she rubbed Kayla's back.

Kayla buried her face in Miss Sherri's chest, her tears soaking the fabric, her body trembling.

Martha lowered her head, her face tight with shame.

"I—"

"I DON'T WANNA HEAR A DAMN THING FROM YOU !" Miss Sherri snapped, her voice shaking with anger and heartbreak.

Her eyes flashed with a mother's rage as she pointed at Martha and Vince.

"BOTH OF Y'ALL. GET THE FUCK OFF MY LAND! NOW!!!"

The venom in her voice made Martha jump, but Vince barely moved, groaning in pain, his face still bloody and swollen.

That's when Frank stepped forward, phone in hand.

"Don't worry, mama. Cops on the way."

Vince's head snapped up, his swollen eyes going wide.

"Wait, what?" His voice was hoarse, panicked.

"Yeah." Frank smirked. "I called 'em to report trespassers. And from the looks of it, might as well throw in assault, harassment, and child endangerment. Y'all ain't got no business here."

Martha palmed her face, shaking her head.

Vince tried to sit up, tried to argue, but the pain had him groaning, barely able to move.

Tank's jaw was still clenched tight, his muscles still flexed, but his father's firm grip kept him grounded.

Kayla held onto Miss Sherri tighter, her body still wracked with sobs.

This was far from over.

But one thing was clear.

They weren't welcome here.

Not now. Not ever.

The Washingtons sat frozen, their expressions a mix of shock, confusion, and the slow, creeping realization that they had severely miscalculated.

Darling's stomach twisted painfully as she watched Tank wrap a protective hand around Kayla's small, round bump. It was the way he did it—gentle, possessive, full of love—that made Darling's chest tighten with something she didn't want to name.

She had come here expecting to see Kayla broken, regretful, desperate to return home.

Instead, she saw her held, cherished, protected.

She saw Kayla clutching her belly, trembling, but not from fear of the man standing beside her. No. It was him—Tank—who was holding her steady, rubbing slow circles on her stomach, whispering something only she could hear.

And then there was Martha.

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes finally settled on Kayla's belly.

She hadn't noticed it before—too caught up in her own guilt, her own shame. But now, as the red-and-blue police lights cast flickering shadows across the yard, she saw it clearly.

Her firstborn was pregnant.

And she hadn't been there.

Hadn't been there to hold her hair back through morning sickness. Hadn't been there to rub her feet when they ached. Hadn't been there when she heard the heartbeat for the first time.

Martha staggered back, her head spinning, her hands trembling as the reality of what she had done caved in on her all at once.

She had failed Kayla.

As a mother. As a protector. As the one person who was supposed to put her before everything else.

And now, now, she was being escorted into the back of a cop car, her wrists bound in cold, unforgiving metal.

She turned her head, catching Kayla's gaze for a split second.

She expected anger. Hatred.

But what she saw instead shattered her.

Nothing.

Just emptiness. A hollow, detached stare.

As if Kayla had already grieved her mother's absence long ago.

As if Kayla had moved on and maybe she had.

Maybe, standing in the arms of Tank, surrounded by a real family, Kayla had finally found what she had been missing her whole life.

And Martha wasn't a part of it.

The police shut the door, and as the car pulled away, Martha let her head drop

Because now, it was too late