Page 98 of Siren

I sang. Shouted. Cried. Came undone.

For him. Because of him.

We were a whole damn song.

The roar of the crowd was thunder wrapped in joy.

It rolled through the stadium in crashing waves—hands raised, lights blinking, bodies swaying to the rhythm that had brought us all here. The band held the final chord, letting it breathe, while the stage lights dimmed just enough to make the moment hold.

And then his voice rang out, warm and steady through the hush.

“Before we close this out,” Taraj said into the mic, “I got one more surprise for y’all.”

The crowd erupted—screams pitched high, a thousand guesses colliding in the air.

From the wings, I placed one hand over my heart, the other resting on the soft swell of my stomach. My pulse was a drumbeat in my ears, steady and strong—just like the little one growing inside me.

I hadn’t expected it to feel like this.

Full. Electric. Sacred.

For so long, I thought the stage was the only place I’d ever create something that moved people. But now, I was carryingsomething deeper. A new kind of song. A life formed in love, shaped by every note, every kiss, every whispered promise between us.

He looked toward me. Found me in the dark like he always did.

Nodded once and I stepped into the light—not just as the artist they came to see, but as a woman transformed. A woman becoming.

And this time, I wasn’t just singing for them.

I was singing forus.

The reaction was instant—gasps, cries, applause so loud it rattled the rafters. Phones shot up. Hands clutched chests. Some people cried like it wastheirbaby we were about to announce.

I walked slow, the spotlight catching on the satin curve of my dress, each step a soft hymn. My hands framed the new life I carried. My hair was swept back in a low knot, skin glowing, lip gloss soft. I felt every inch a woman—loved, held, radiant.

Taraj met me at center stage and kissed my hand first?—

not just any hand, but the one wearing the quiet diamond he slid on my finger one morning when the world was still sleeping.

Then he kissed my forehead.

And in that exact moment—despite twenty thousand people watching, despite the press in the crowd, the bright, blinking lights—everything went still.

“You see this woman right here?” he said, voice low and thick with feeling, one hand at my waist.

The crowd answered with a roar.

“This woman saw me when I was still figuring out who I was. She gave me her light. Her voice. Her love. She said yes to me when no one was looking. And now,” he turned slightly, placed his palm against the gentle rise of my belly,“…she’s giving me our next verse.”

The crowd broke. Louder than before.

Cameras flashing. People crying.

But all I saw was him.

My husband.

My home.

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