Page 39 of The Black Wife Blessing

"Benjamin's counting on you feeling isolated," I continue. "He wants you to handle this alone because he knows you're stronger with people in your corner. With me in your corner."

Her shoulders relax slightly as the truth of my words sinks in.

"I don't want him to hurt you," she admits.

"And I don't want him to hurt you," I counter. "The difference is, I have resources he can only dream of. Let me use them."

I take her face in my hands, my thumbs gently wiping away a tear that's escaped.

"We're in this together. Not because we have to be, but because I choose to be. Because I—" I catch myself, the word"love" hovering dangerously on my lips. Not yet. "Because I care about you. More than I thought possible."

I see Monica's eyes flicker with something—uncertainty, maybe guilt—as she pulls back slightly.

"I didn't think our fake marriage would get this far," she admits quietly. "This isn't what you signed up for. Dealing with my crazy ex, threats, revenge porn..." She shakes her head. "It was supposed to be simple. Appearances at parties, some photos together, getting your mother off your back."

I can't help but laugh, though there's no humor in it. Just the absurdity of how quickly life can change course.

"Fake marriage or not, I'm going to protect you from Benjamin." I shrug like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Because to me, it is. "The certificate might be real, but whether we fell into this for convenience doesn't change what I'm willing to do now."

I move closer, taking her hands in mine again. They're chef's hands—strong, slightly calloused, with a small burn mark on her right index finger. Hands that create beautiful things. Hands that deserve better than to shake with fear.

"Look, I don't give a shit how we got here. The fact is, we're here now. And I don't let people I care about face threats alone."

Her eyes meet mine, searching. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"Damn right I do." I squeeze her hands. "Benjamin's playing a game he can't win. He thinks he can intimidate you, scare you back to him. But he's not just dealing with you anymore. He's dealing with us."

I feel her fingers tighten around mine. Something shifts between us—the pretense falling away, replaced by something more solid, more real.

"So what do we do?" she asks, her voice stronger now.

"We fight. We document everything. And we show this asshole that the woman he tried to tear down is now surrounded by people who won't let that happen again."

27

MONICA

Isit next to Henry on my living room couch, our thighs almost touching as we face my laptop. On screen, Josiah Carter—Henry's lawyer—speaks in a measured tone that somehow manages to be both calming and authoritative. His silver-framed glasses catch the light each time he leans forward to emphasize a point.

"So what we're dealing with here is a clear case of harassment, intimidation, and now distribution of intimate images without consent." Josiah taps his pen against a legal pad. "Mrs. Blackwood, I understand how difficult this must be, but I need you to walk me through the timeline of events."

Mrs. Blackwood. The name still feels foreign on my skin. I glance at Henry, who gives me a reassuring nod.

"It started with him showing up in my life again. He was trying to intimidate me and belittle my marriage." My voice comes out steadier than I expect. "When I rejected his advances, my restaurant was vandalized soon afterwards. And yesterday, the photos."

Henry's hand finds mine, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. The simple gesture grounds me, but also sends a freshwave of guilt crashing through my chest. This man is fighting my battles, using his resources, his connections. All for someone who isn't even really his wife.

"I've saved everything," I continue. "The texts, photos of the damage to the restaurant. I even have security footage from that day."

Josiah nods approvingly. "Excellent. Documentation is crucial. Now, has he made any direct threats?"

"Not in those words. But the message is clear—he wants to ruin what I've built."

"And what I've built with Monica," Henry adds, his voice taking on that hard edge I've come to recognize when Benjamin is the topic. "This piece of shit needs to understand he can't just?—"

"Henry," Josiah interrupts, "I appreciate your passion, but let's stay focused on building our case."

I squeeze Henry's hand, feeling the tension in his fingers. He's angry for me. Protective of me. The realization sends warmth spreading through my chest, followed immediately by that persistent, nagging guilt.

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