Page 113 of Yearn
“You’re very comfortable with weaponizing courtrooms. Maybe because that’s the only room you’ll ever win in.”
His mouth flattened. He glanced toward the stairs, toward the bedrooms where our children slept, and I saw it—the calculation. He wanted to shout; he wanted to make this a show. He didn’t, because the neighbors would hear, because the judge would hear from me later, because their little heads would lift from pillows and carry the sound into morning.
He swallowed whatever performance wanted to climb out of his throat and jerked his chin toward the door. “I’m getting my suitcase.”
I followed him. “I don’t want you here.”
“You do. You just don’t want to admit that you miss me.” He strode toward the door.
“I don’t miss you anymore. I don’t even want to hear your voice or see you.” I headed out with him. “Please don’t do this, Scott. Don’t force me to deal with your disgusting face. It would be a nightmare.”
“You’ve been lonely, Teyonah. I know it.”
We stepped outside.
The night air was thick and mean.
Next door, Mrs. Patterson had the nerve to be outside and on her porch, sweeping.
This bitch. . .
That broom wasn’t for cleaning.
It was her camouflage.
The woman could’ve been in bed, could’ve been reading her Bible or talking to her cats, but no—Mrs. Patterson had foundher real ministry: watching other people’s lives unravel in real time.
She paused mid-sweep when she spotted me. Her face bloomed into that smile I didn’t trust—too wide, too knowing.
“Well, look at God!” she called out, voice syrupy and loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. “The family’s back together again.”
I rolled my eyes. “Evening, Mrs. Patterson.”
She waved the broom like a blessing. “Evening, Sister Teyonah! Evening, Brother Scott! The Lord sure does work in mysterious ways, doesn’t He?”
“Sure does,” I muttered under my breath.
Scott, oblivious, smiled back. “Good evening, ma’am.”
“Mmm-hmm. God bless.” Her broom started moving again, slow strokes across nothing. “I was praying for you two to get back together. Them boys need their father. Mmm-hmm. I’m going to make you a big ole box of cookies, Scott. You be on the lookout now!”
“I sure will, ma’am.” Scott winked at her. “Thanks for thinking of me. I sure do love your cookies.”
Unfortunatly for me, Scott would trash them too. Maybe if he’d just eat one, the problem of him would finally go away.
Sometimes I wondered what Mrs. Pattersonreallysaw through those lace curtains all these years during my marriage.
The woman didn’t just watch—shewitnessed.
Surely, she’d been there for every fight that started loud and ended in silence.
For every slammed door, every sob I swallowed so the boys wouldn’t hear. I’d caught the flicker of her lamp more than once when Scott’s voice rose high enough to wake the block.
Maybe that’s why her smile tonight looked different.
Maybe she knew more than she ever said.
She thought Scott should be back?
