Page 27 of I See You

The anger in Harper’s eyes softened. Because there was nothing she wouldn’t do for Helen. Even this. Even if it hurt.

"Okay, Madea," she whispered, lowering her head, her tone barely above a breath.

Helen smiled, squeezing her hand again. "Trust me, Haz… it will heal you."

Harper didn’t respond. Didn’t argue. Didn’t even lift her head. Because deep down, she knew Helen believed that. But Harper? She wasn’t sure she believed in healing at all, when it came to her parents.

Helen let the silence linger for a moment before turning to Roman. "Andyou,"shesaid,givinghimapointedlook."Youneedtofind one woman and settle down."

Roman smirked slightly, already knowing where this was going. Helengavehimalook."Iknowaboutyourtwo-wifedream,baby, but that ain’t how life works. You need to let one strong woman love you."

Roman chuckled lowly, shaking his head.

But Hassan? He didn’t laugh. Because he knew Helen wasn’t just talking. She was preparing.

And whether they were ready for it or not— This was goodbye.

Then, the conversation shifted to him. Hassan wanted to cut her off before she started. Get up. Leave. But he knew Helen too well. She’d get in his ass, and out of all the people in this world, she was the one person he wouldn’t disrespect.

So he stayed. Barely.

"Hassan…" Helen started, her voice softer now, careful. "I know you’re strong. Really, the strongest person I know. Losing everyone close to you and still making a good life for yourself—that takes strength. And I don’t ever want you to think I see you as weak."

Hassan’s cold eyes lifted to hers, unreadable. "But you do think I’m broken."

His voice was calm. Cold. Distant.

Helen hesitated. That hesitation was all the answer he needed. He scoffed under his breath, looking away.

"I… think you’ve been through too much," she admitted carefully. "So much that it’s caused you to walk around with demons that weren’t yours to carry."

Hassan stayed quiet, but his jaw ticked—a small but sharp sign of his anger.

"I just think therapy would help you cope with those demons, Hassan."

She said it softly, but that didn’t make it easier to hear.

Hassan put his fork down. Then his napkin. He was done with this conversation. Nothing—not a damn thing—could help him with the weight he carried, and the sooner they accepted that, the better.

Harper spoke up next. "San… just listen."

His cold stare flicked to her, cutting through her like ice.

"Y’all expect me to sit here while y’all tell me how fucked up I am? Iain't about to listen to this shit." His voice was calm, but the edge in it was undeniable.

"Hassan Zaire Gaines—sit your ass down and listen to what I have to say."

Helen’s sharp tone cut through the air like a whip.

He stayed standing for a moment, his body rigid, challenging her. Then, after a beat, he lowered himself back into his seat. He might sit here, but that didn’t mean he was listening.

"Harper told me about her friend—a cognitive behavioral therapist. She has a 99% success rate and could really help you, Hassan," Helen continued, her voice laced with something raw. "I know you’re not a talking-ass nigga, and I know you don’t believe in therapy, but just… think about it."

Her voice cracked. And that?

Thatwastheonlythingthatgottohim.Hedidn’tblinkatblood.

Didn’t flinch at death. Didn’t break under pressure.

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