Chapter 1

Meesha

Dr. Benson sat down behind his regal mahogany desk and removed the gold-plated wire frame glasses from his weary face. At fifty-eight years old, he was an attractive older man with well-defined features, salt and pepper hair, and dark, deep chestnut eyes. He looked crazy tired and mad stressed - even more so than usual...maybe his twelve-hour work days were finally starting to catch up to him.

After several seconds of obvious - and uncomfortable - silence, he finally opened his mouth to speak, but then hesitated again; he seemed to be searching desperately for something within the confines of his brilliant mind, and I wondered what could turn this usually strong, pleasant, outspoken man into a dark and gloomy mute.

When he reached across his desk and took me by my hand, I could feel that something was wrong; my women’s intuition was screaming to be heard. A quick but powerful shiver shot throughout my entire body; I’d never felt anything like that in my life.

“Mrs. Clark...” he spoke, then stopped abruptly and cleared his throat. “Mrs. Clark...” he continued, “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this...but...you’re HIV positive.” He gripped my numb n>b..

“What?” I asked in a state of complete shock, heading straight for panic. I couldn’t trust my own ears; they had to be playing a trick on me - what other explanation was there? How the hell could I have HIV? I was a married woman - a faithfully married woman. This had to be a mistake. Denial was the very first stage of grief, and I was embracing it wholeheartedly. I told myself that my blood sample must have been mixed up with someone else’s. Clark was a fairly common last name - Hell, I shared it with seven students in my high school graduating class alone. It had to be a mix up...it just had to be.

“Dr. Benson, someone must have made a mistake.” My tear-blurred eyes pleaded desperately with his. “I’m not blamin’ anyone. Let’s just run it again.”

“Meesha, the test was run three times - twice by myself, just to be sure.”

I felt so lost, so confused, and so very hopeless. My life was only just beginning. I wanted to see more. I wanted to do more. I wanted more time with my family. At twenty-one years old, I was six months pregnant with my third child. My husband and I had already been blessed with two beautiful daughters, but this would be our first son. We’d been married for three years now, and we were genuinely happy. For the first time in our marriage, we were looking forward to the future. Now, the doctor who only a few short years ago gave me the best news of my life was also giving me the worst. It all felt so final. I never thought for one second that I wouldn’t be around for my daughter’s weddings or the births of their children. What were they going to do without me, without their mother? They only got one - and I was it. It didn’t matter if I had one more year or another ten...it wasn’t enough.

After taking almost two hours to accept my status - and another two discussing my treatment options with Dr. Benson - I somehow managed to drag myself down to the underground parking garage and hurl my emotionally drained body into my vehicle. As I sat in my brand new, gleaming silver Range Rover, everything felt so surreal. A few weeks ago, she was all I wanted. I was so happy the day I got to pick her out. My husband had ordered every single option and luxury available – but now none of the luxury that surrounded me meant a damn thing.

“What am I gonna do?!!” I screamed and cried as I pounded both my fists on the steering wheel. “What the FUCK am I gonna do?!!”

I looked up into my rearview mirror, and for the first time in my life I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me. Who was this person? Wfiris pershat had I become? Why did I let him and his crazy love destroy me? There were so many questions - but not nearly enough answers. My mind quickly drifted back to my children; I wondered who would be there for them. Who would teach my girls to be ladies? Who would show them how to respect themselves and their bodies? And who would prepare them for all the heartbreaks and disappointments they’d certainly face as Black women? I then began to think of the child still growing inside of me. If I were sick, would he be born sick, too? What would become of my son? Was he doomed to follow the same path his father did when he lost his mother at a young age? I loved my husband with all my heart, but I did not want his life for our children. They were supposed to have it better than we did growing up; we were supposed to make it better for them. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly where we went wrong, but I knew that we’d failed them just the same - and admitting that was painful.

My tears began to fall harder than plump, juicy raindrops on a dim April morning in St. Louis. I couldn’t stop crying; it seemed like the more tears I wiped away, the more fell. Yes, it was true that I loved my husband with all my heart - but he was going to pay for what he did to me and our family.

“Boss...” my diamond-covered hand gripped the key that was already in the ignition and turned it until my Range began to purr, “...yo bitch is on her way.”